GIFT  OF 


N  .    H 


$Mmr, 


APPLETONS'  NEW  HANDY-VOLUME  SERIES. 


TABLE-TALK. 

TO   WHICH   ARE   ADDED 

IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS  OF 
POPE  AND  SWIFT. 


BY 

LEIGH  HUNT. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

549  AND  551  BROADWAY. 
1879. 


PREFACE  TO  ORIGINAL  EDITION. 


THE  title  of  this  volume,  "  TABLE-TALK," 
will,  it  is  hoped,  be  found  by  the  reader  to  be 
warranted  by  the  conversational  turn  of  the 
style,  as  well  as  the  nature  and  variety^  of  the 
subjects  touched  upon,  and  the  manner  in  which 
they  are  treated.  Some  portion  was  really 
talked ;  and  it  may  be  said  of  the  rest,  that  the 
thoughts  have,  in  all  probability,  passed  the 
writer's  lips  in  conversation. 

The  "  Imaginary  Conversations  of  Pope  and 
Swift "  were  considered  an  appropriate  addition 
to  a  volume  of  "  Table-Talk,"  and  are  intended 
strictly  to  represent  both  the  turn  of  style  and 
of  thinking  of  these  two  poets;  though  the 
thoughts  actually  expressed  are  the  writer's 
invention. 

4388*5 


On  correcting  the  sheets  for  press,  I  am  not 
aware  of  any  remark  that  I  should  particularly 
wish  to  modify,  with  the  exception  of  some- 
thing that  is  said  of  Germany  in  the  course  of 
the  article  on  "  Goethe."  I  have  since  become 
better  acquainted  with  the  great  intellects  of 
that  nation,  which  has  unquestionably  produced 
the  leading  thinkers  of  the  century.  The 
world  has  yet  to  learn  the  extent  of  its  obliga- 
tions to  such  men  as  Goethe  and  Schiller,  to 
Lessing,  to  Kant,  to  Herder,  Eichter,  Fichte, 

and  others. 

LEIGH  HUNT. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

TABLE-TALK      .  .  .  .  .  .11 

LADIES  CARVING  AT  DINNER       .  .  .  .13 

ANOMALIES  or  DISHES  AND  FURNITURE,  ETC.  .  .  14 

TOPICS  FOR  DINNER        .  .  .  .  .15 

WILD  FLOWERS,  FURZE,  AND  WIMBLEDON     .  .  .17 

MISTAKES  OF  THE  PRESS  .  .  .  .21 

MAY-TIME     .  .  .  .  .  .  .22 

MALICE  OF  FORTUNE       .....         25 

BISHOPS  AND  BRAHMINS        .  .  .  .  .25 

THE  "BLESSED  RESTORATION"    ....         30 

THE  SUN       .  .  .  .  .  .  .32 

BON-MOT  OF  A  COACHMAN          .  .  .  .32 

SONG  OF  THE  NIGHTINGALE  .  .  .  .  .34 

OVID        .......         35 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  ROOK     .  .  .  .  .35 

How  LAWYERS  GO  TO  HEAVEN  .  .  .  .36 

COLLINS,  THE  POET    .  .  .  .  .  .36 

A  FACT  .......         40 

THE  Two  CONQUERORS         .  .  .  .  .41 

CLERICAL  TITLES  .  .  .  .  .41 

HORACE  WALPOLE  AND  PINKERTON  .  .  .  .42 

JEWS       .  44 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

SMOLLETT       .            .            .            .            .            .  .45 

CHEMISTRY          ......  47 

PETTY  CONVENIENCES  AND  COMFORTS            .            .  .49 

TEARS     .......  50 

DR.  ALDRICH              .            .            .            .            .  .51 

LORD  MARCHMONT'S  RECEIPT  FOR  LONGEVITY    .            .  52 

THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION             .            .            .  .54 

DISCOVERERS  OF  AMERICA          ....  54 

WONDER  NEVER  CEASES         .            .            .            .  .55 

DALY,  THE  DUBLIN  MANAGER     ....  66 

..JjlGHT   AND    COLORS    .                  .                  .                  .                  .  .59 

VERSIONS  OF  ANCIENT  LYRICS  .            .            .            .  61 

CATHARINE  II.  OF  RUSSIA    .            .            .            .  .62 

PETRARCH  AND  LAURA    .....  63 

MORAL  AND  PERSONAL  COURAGE       .            .           .  .65 

^TIGHT-LACING     .            .            .                    >  .            .  66 

GRAVITY  AND  INDUSTRY  OF  DANCERS           .            .  .68 

ADVERTISEMENTS              .....  70 

SPORTSMEN  AND  CUSTOM        .            .            .            .  .70 

BEARS  AND  THEIR  HUNTERS        .  .  .  .71 

SELF-STULTIFICATION              .            .            .            .  .73 

COWSLIPS  .  .  .  .  .74 

APRIL  FOOLS             .            .            .            .            .  .75 

'PRIVATE  WAR    ......  77 

BEAUMARCHAIS          .            .            .            .            .  .80 

MOZAR*  .......  81 

VIOLET — WITH  A  DIFFERENCE           .            .            .  .81 

VERBAL  MISTAKES  OF  FOREIGNERS         .  .  .81 

HUME  AND  THE  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS          .            .  .83 

A  CHARMING  CREATURE  .....  84 

BACON           .            .            .            .            .            .  .84 

SUICIDES  OF  BUTLERS     .....  84 

DUELS            .            .            .            .            .            .  .85 

LISTON    .  87 


.CONTENTS.  7 

PAGE 

STEEPLE-CHASING     .  .  .  .  .  .88 

TURKEYS  ......  89 

BAGPIPES     .  .  .  .  .  .  .90 

CAESAR  AND  BONAPARTE  ....  90 

PSEUDO-CHRISTIANITY          .  .  .  .  .91 

DYED  HAIR       ......  93 

EATING        .  .  .  .  .  .  .95 

POLAND  AND  KOSCIUSKO  ....  99 

ENGLAND  AND  THE  POPE  (GREGORY)  .  .  .  100 

THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON'S  CONCERT  .  .         101 

WAR,  DINNER,  AND  THANKSGIVING  .  .  .  .104 

FIRES  AND  MARTYRDOM  .  .  .  .106 

RESPECTABILITY       .  .  .  .  .  .108 

USE  OF  THE  WORD  "ANGEL,"  ETC.,  IN  LOYE-MAKING  .        113 
ELOQUENCE  OF  OMISSION     .  .  .  .  .113 

GODS  OF  HOMER  AND  LUCRETIUS          .  .  .114 

AN  INVISIBLE  RELIC  .  .  .  .  .115 

A  NATURAL  MISTAKE    .  .  .  .  .115 

MORTAL  GOOD  EFFECTS  OF' MATRIMONY      .  .  .115 

UMBRELLAS        ......         115 

BOOKSELLERS-  DEVICES        .  .  .  .  .117 

WOMEN  ON  THE  RIGHT  SIDE    .  .  .  .118 

SHENSTONE  MISTAKEN          .  .  .  .  .118 

THE  MARSEILLES  HYMN  .  .  .  .         119 

NON-SEQUITUR         .  .  .  .  .  .120 

NON-RHYMES     ......         120 

STOTHARD    .......  121 

THE  COUNTENANCE  AFTER  DEATH          .  .  .124 

HUME 124 

GIBBON.  ......         124 

ANGELS  AND  FLOWERS        .  .  .  .  .125 

AN  ENVIABLE  DISTRESS  .  .  .  .126 

SIR  THOMAS  DYOT  .  .  .  .  .  .126 

ANCIENT  AND  MODERN  EXAMPLE  127 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

MILTON  AND  ms  PORTRAITS            .            .            .  .130 

WILLIAM  HAY  ......  131 

BISHOP  CORBET       .            .            .            .            .  .132 

HOADLY  .  .  .  .  .  .  133 

^  VOLTAIRE    .            .            .            .            .            .  .133 

HANDEL             ......  133 

MONTAIGNE              .            .            .            .            .  .  135 

WALLER            ......  136 

OTWAY  .  .  .  .  .  .  .137 

f    RAPHAEL  AND  MICHAEL  ANGELO          .            .            .  137 

WAX  AND  HONEY    .            .            .            .            .  .138 

ASSOCIATIONS  WITH  SHAKESPEARE  .  .  .  139 

BAD  GREAT  MEN  .  .  .  .  .  .  140 

^   CICERO  .            .            .            .            .             .            .  140 

FLOWERS  IN  WINTER  .  .  .  .  140 

/  CHARLES  LAMB  .  .  .  .  .  .141 

SPORTING     .            .            .            .     •                    .  .  143 

WISDOM  OP  THE  HEAD  AND  OF  THE  HEART     .            .  147 

MAECENAS    ...           .           .           .           .'  .  147 

LORD  SHAFTESBURY'S  EXPERIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY        .  148 

A  PHILOSOPHER  THROWN  FROM  HIS  HORSE             *  .  148 

WORLDS  OF  DIFFERENT  PEOPLE             .             .             .  149 

MRS.  SIDDONS           .             .            .             .             .  .  149 

NON-NECESSITY  OF  GOOD  WORDS  TO  Music  .  .151 

GOETHE  .  .  .  .  .  .  .152 

I  BACON  A^ND  JAMES  I.    .            .            .            .            .  156 

GOLDSMITH'S  LIFE  OF  BEAU  NASH  .  .  .  .156 

/  JULIUS  USSAR  .            .            .            .            .            .  157 

FENELON      .......  158 

SPENSER  AND  THE  MONTH  OF  AUGUST              .            .  158 

ADVICE        .             .             .             .             .             .  .  160 

ECLIPSES,  HUMAN  BEINGS,  AND  THE  LOWER  CREATION  .  161 

EASTER-DAY  AND  THE  SUN,  AND  ENGLISH  POETRY  .  .  163 

THE  FIVE-POUND  NOTE  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN  .  165 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAG  IS 

PAISIELLO    .......  167 

CARDINAL  ALBERONI     .  .  .  .  .168 

SIR  WILLIAM  PETTY  THE  STATIST  AND  MECHANICAL  PHI- 
LOSOPHER       .  .  .  .  .  .169 

NAME  OF  LINNAEUS       .  .  .  .  .170 

JOHN  BUNGLE  (THE  HERO  OF  THE  BOOK  so  CALLED)          .  170 
POUSSIN  ......         171 

PRIOR          .  .  .  .  .  .  .172 

/  BURKE  AND  PAINE        .  .  .  .  .173 

THE  DUTCH  AT  THE  CAPE  .  .  .  .  .175 

RUSSIAN-HORN  BAND    .  .  .  .  .175 

DOGS  AND  THEIR  MASTERS  .  .  .  .  .176 

BODY  AND  MIND  .  .  .  .  .178 

WANT  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  THE  COMFORTABLE        .  .179 

THE  SINGING  MAN  KEPT  BY  THE  BIRDS  .  .         182 

A  STRANGE  HEAVEN  .  .  .  .  .184 

STANDING  GODFATHER  .  .  .  .  .186 

MAGNIFYING  TRIFLES          .  .  .  .  .187 

RELICS  .  .  .  .  .  .  .         187 

SOLITUDE     .  .  .  .  .  .  .188 

Louis  XIV.  AND  GEORGE  IV.  .  .  .  .         188 

HENRY  IV.  OF  FRANCE  AND  ALFRED          .  .  .189 

FELLOWS  OF  COLLEGES  .....         189 

BEAUTY  A  JOY  IN  HEAVEN  .  .  .  .190 

ASSOCIATIONS  OF  GLASTONBURY  .  .  .190 

LIBERTY  OF  SPEECH  .  .  .  .  .190 

WRITING  POETRY          .  .  .  .  .191 

THE  WOMEN  OF  ITALY        .  .  .  .  .191 

FRENCH  PEOPLE  .  .  .  .  .192 

THE  BLIND  .  .  .  .  .  .  .192 

LONDON  ......         W2 

SOUTHEY'S  POETRY  .  .  .  .  .  .193 

VULGAR  CALUMNY        .  .  .  .  .193 

VALUE  OF  ACQUIREMENTS  .  .  .  .  .194 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  BEARD       ......         195 

ATTRACTIONS  OF  HAM         .  .  .  .  .195 

SLEEPING  UNDER  THE  SKY         .  .  .  .196 

WAR  POETRY  .  .  ....  197 

MONEY-GETTING  .  .  .  .  .198 

VALUE  OF  WORDS  ......  198 

UNWRITTEN  REVELATIONS         .  .  .  .198 

WEEPING     ....  .199 


IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS  OP  POPE  AND  SWIFT, 

CONVERSATION  OF  POPE      .  .  .  .  203 

CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE     .  •        221 


TABLE-TALK. 


TABLE-TALK 

Is  so  natural  to  man,  that  the  mouth  is  the  organ 
both  of  eating  and  speaking.  The  tongue  is  set 
flowing  by  the  bottle.  Johnson  talked  best  when 
he  dined ;  Addison  could  not  talk  at  all  till  he 
drank.  Table  and  conversation  interchange  their 
metaphors.  We  devour  wit  and  argument,  and 
discuss  a  turkey  and  chine.  That  man  must  be 
very  much  absorbed  in  reflection,  or  stupid,  or 
sulky,  or  unhappy,  or  a  mere  hog  at  his  trough, 
who  is  not  moved  to  say  something  when  he 
dines.  The  two  men  who  lived  with  no  other 
companions  in  the  Eddy  stone  Lighthouse,  and 
who  would  not  speak  to  one  another  during  their 
six  months,  must  have  been  hard  put  to  it  when 
they  tapped  a  fresh  barrel.  To  be  sure,  the  great- 
er the  temptation  the  greater  the  sulk ;  but  the 
better-natured  of  the  two  must  have  found  it  a 
severe  struggle  on  a  very  fine  or  very  foggy  day. 
Table-talk,  to  be  perfect,  should  be  sincere 


12  TABLE-TALK. 

without  bigotry,  differing  without  discord,  some- 
times grave,  always  agreeable,  touching  on  deep 
points,  dwelling  most  on  seasonable  ones,  and  let- 
ting everybody  speak  and  be  heard.  During  the 
wine  after  dinner,  if  the  door  of  the  room  be 
opened,  there  sometimes  comes  bursting  up  the 
drawing-room  stairs  a  noise  like  that  of  a  tap- 
room. Everybody  is  shouting  in  order  to  make 
himself  audible ;  argument  is  tempted  to  con- 
found itself  with  loudness ;  and  there  is  not  one 
conversation  going  forward,  but  six,  or  a  score. 
This  is  better  than  formality  and  want  of  spirits  ; 
but  it  is  no  more  the  right  thing  than  a  scramble 
is  a  dance,  or  the  tap-room  chorus  a  quartet  of 
Rossini.  The  perfection  of  conversational  inter- 
course is  when  the  breeding  of  high  life  is  ani- 
mated by  the  fervor  of  genius. 

Nevertheless,  the  man  who  can  not  be  loud,  or 
even  vociferous  on  occasion,  is  wanting  on  the 
jovial  side  of  good-fellowship.  Chesterfield,  with 
all  his  sense  and  agreeableness,  was  but  a  solemn 
fop  when  he  triumphantly  asked  whether  any- 
body had  "ever  seen  him  laugh?"  It  was  as 
bad  as  the  jealous  lover  in  the  play  who  says  : 
"Have  ./been  the  life  of  the  company?  Have  I 
made  you  all  die  with  merriment  ?  "  And  there 
were  occasions,  no  doubt,  when  Chesterfield  might 
have  been  answered  as  the  lover  was  :  "  No  ;  to 
do  you  justice,  you  have  been  confoundedly 
stupid." 


LADIES   CARVING  AT   DINNER.  13 

Luckily  for  table-talkers  in  general,  they  need 
be  neither  such  fine  gentlemen  as  Chesterfield, 
nor  such  oracles  as  Johnson,  nor  such  wits  as 
Addison  and  Swift,  provided  they  have  nature 
and  sociability,  and  are  not  destitute  of  reading 
and  observation. 


LADIES  CARVUSTG  AT  DIK^TER. 

Why  doesn't  some  leader  of  the  fashionable 
world  put  an  end  to  this  barbarous  custom  ? 
What  a  sight,  to  see  a  delicate  little  creature,  or, 
worse  perhaps,  a  "  fine  woman,"  in  all  the  glory 
of  her  beauty  and  bedizenment,  rise  up  with  a 
huge  knife  in  her  hand,  as  if  she  were  going  to 
act  the  part  of  Judith,  and  begin  heaving  away 
at  a  great  piece  of  beef  !  For  the  husband  does 
not  always  think  it  necessary  to  take  the  more 
laborious  dish  on  himself.  Sometimes  the  lady 
grows  as  hot  and  flustered  as  the  housewife  in  the 
"  Winter's  Tale,"  "  her  face  o'  fire  with  labor." 
Gentlemen  feel  bound  to  offer  their  services,  and 
become  her  substitutes  in  that  unseemly  warfare. 
Why  don't  they  take  the  business  on  themselves 
at  once  ?  or,  rather,  why  don't  they  give  it  to  the 
servants,  who  have  nothing  better  to  do,  and  who 
have  eaten  their  own  meal  in  comfort  ?  A  side- 
table  is  the  proper  place  for  carving.  Indeed,  it 
is  used  for  that  purpose  in  some  great  houses. 
Why  not  in  all  ?  It  is  favorable  for  additional 


14  TABLE-TALK. 

means  of  keeping  the  dishes  hot ;  nobody  at  the 
dinner-table  is  inconvenienced  ;  and  the  lady  of 
the  house  is  not  made  a  spectacle  of,  and  a  sub- 
ject for  ridiculous  condolements.  None  would 
regret  the  reformation  but  epicures  who  keep  on 
the  watch  for  tidbits,  to  the  disadvantage  of  hon- 
est diners,  and  whom  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to 
see  reduced  from  shocking  oglers  at  the  hostess 
into  dependents  on  the  plebeian  carver. 

ANOMALIES  OF  DISHES  AND  FURNITURE,  ETC. 

Among  the  customs  at  table  which  deserve  to 
be  abolished  is  that  of  serving  up  dishes  that  re- 
tain a  look  of  "  life  in  death  " — codfish  with  their 
staring  eyes,  hares  with  their  hollow  countenances, 
etc.  It  is  in  bad  taste,  an  incongruity,  an  anoma- 
ly ;  to  say  nothing  of  its  effect  on  morbid  imagi- 
nations. 

Even  furniture  would  be  better  without  such 
inconsistencies.  Claws,  and  hands,  and  human 
heads  are  not  suited  to  the  dead  wood  of  goods 
and  chattels.  A  chair  should  not  seem  as  if  it 
could  walk  off  with  us  ;  nor  a  table  look  like  a 
monstrous  three-footed  animal,  with  a  great  flat 
circular  back,  and  no  head.  It  is  such  furniture 
as  the  devil  might  have  had  in  Pandemonium — 
"  Gorgons,  and  hydras,  and  chimeras  dire." 

A  lady  sometimes  makes  tea  out  of  a  serpent's 
mouth  ;  and  a  dragon  serves  her  for  a  seat  in  a 


TOPICS  FOR   DINNER.  15 

garden.  This  is  making  a  witch  of  her,  instead 
of  a  Venus  or  a  Flora.  Titania  did  not  sit  on  a 
toadstool,  but  on  a  bank  full  of  wild  thyme  and 
violets. 

This  bad  taste  is  never  more  remarkably  ex- 
emplified than  in  the  case  of  fountains.  The 
world  seems  to  have  given  fountains  a  privilege 
for  exciting  incongruous  and  filthy  ideas  ;  for 
nobody,  as  far  as  I  am  aware  (except  Pope,  by 
an  implication),  has  protested  against  their  im- 
possible combinations  and  vomiting  mouths  ;  than 
which  nothing  surely  can  be  more  ridiculous  or 
revolting.  A  fountain  should  suggest  nothing 
but  feelings  of  purity  and  freshness  ;  yet  they 
go  to  the  reverse  extreme,  and  seem  to  endeavor 
to  make  one  sick. 

TOPICS  FOR  DINNER. 

What  a  thing  it  is  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  after 
reading  of  the  miseries  in  starving  countries  ! 
One  fancies  one  has  no  right  to  eat  and  drink. 
But  the  thought  must  be  diverted ;  not  because 
the  question  is  to  be  got  rid  of  on  every  other 
occasion — quite  the  contrary  ;  but  because,  hav- 
ing done  his  best  for  it,  great  or  small,  then,  and 
in  that  case  only,  the  conscientious  diner  has  a 
right  to  waive  it.  Dinner  is  a  refreshment,  and 
should  be  such,  if  possible,  to  everybody,  and 
most  of  all  to  the  anxious.  Hence  the  topics 


16  TABLE-TALK. 

fittest  for  table  are  such  as  are  cheerful,  to  help 
digestion ;  and  cordial,  to  keep  people  in  heart 
with  their  fellow  creatures.  Lively  anecdotes 
are  of  this  description — good-humored  personal 
reminiscences,  literary  chat,  questions  as  easy  to 
crack  as  the  nuts,  quotations  flowing  as  the 
wine,  thoughts  of  eyes  and  cheeks  blooming 
as  the  fruit,  and  beautiful  as  those  that  have 
looked  at  us  over  the  mutual  glass.  They  poet 


"  What,  and  how  great,  the  virtue  of  the  art 
To  live  on  little  with  a  cheerful  heart, 
Let's  talk,  my  friends,  but  talk  before  we  dine !  " 

Yes,  but  not  even  then,  just  before  we  dine. 
A  man's  in  a  very  bad  disposition  for  living  on 
little  before  he  dines.  He  is  much  more  disposed 
to  do  so  afterward,  particularly  if  he  has  eaten 
too  much.  The  time  for  discussing  anxious  sub- 
jects, especially  those  that  regard  the  poor,  is 
neither  at  dinner,  when  the  topic  becomes  almost 
indecent  ;  nor  just  before  it,  when  hunger  is  self- 
ish ;  nc^r  just  after  it,  when  the  feelings  are  too 
self-complacent  ;  but  at  moments  when  the  pulse 
is  lowered,  without  being  too  much  so  for  reason  ; 
though,  indeed,  if  legislators  could  be  kept  with- 
out their  dinners  for  some  two  or  three  days,  there 
are  occasions  when  people  might  be  the  better  for 
it.  Members  of  Parliament  hardly  see  fair  play 
between  their  dinner-bell  and  the  calls  of  the 


WILD   FLOWERS,  FURZE,  AND  WIMBLEDON.     17 

many  ;  and,  when  the  wine  is  in,  the  perfection  of 
wittenagemot  wisdom  is  apt  to  be  out.  The  prince 
in  Voltaire  thought  his  people  happy  "  when  he 
had  dined." 

"  Quand  il  avait  din6,  croyoit  son  peuple  heureux." 

Luckily,  we  have  princes,  and  a  Parliament 
too  (whatever  be  its  faults),  that  can  dine  hap- 
pily, and  yet  not  believe  typhus  and  famine  com- 
fortable. 


WILD  FLOWERS,  FURZE,  AND  WIMBLEDON. 

Those  flowers  on  the  table  are  all  wild  flowers, 
brought  out  of  ditches,  and  woodsides,  and  the 
common ;  daisies  and  buttercups,  ground-ivy, 
hyacinths,  violets,  furze  :  they  are  nothing  better. 
Will  all  the  wit  of  man  make  anything  like  them  ? 

A.  Yes,  paintings. 

JB.  And  poetry  and  music. 

C.  True  ;  but  paintings  can  not  be  sown  ; 
they  can  not  come  up  again  every  spring,  fresh 
and  fresh,  beautiful  as  ever. 

A.  Paintings  are  sown  by  copyists  and  en- 
gravers. 

C.  Very  true  indeed  ;  but  still  there  is  a  dif- 
ference. Humphreys  is  not  Correggio  ;  Linton  is 
not  Rembrandt ;  Strange  himself  is  not  Titian. 
The  immortal  painter  does  not  survive  in  person 
to  make  even  his  own  reds  and  blues  immortal  as 
2 


18  TABLE-TALK. 

his  name.     Yet  here  is  the  hyacinth,  as  fresh  as 
when  it  was  first  created.     Here  is  Burns's 

"  Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower," 

as  new  as  if  the  great  peasant  had  just  turned  it 
up  with  his  plow. 

J3.  Poetry  seems  as  if  it  would  last  as  long  as 
flowers  ;  and  it  has  no  need  of  renewal. 

C.  God  forbid  I  should  undervalue  his  most 
wonderful  work  here  on  earth,  the  creature  who 
can  himself  create  !     I  wonder  what  they  have  to 
resemble,  or  surpass  him,  in  the  planets  Mercury 
and  Yenus  ?    I  suppose  he  gets  better  and  better 
as  he  nears  the  sun  ;  and  in  the  sun  is  the  heaven 
we  are  all  going  to  ;  not  the  final  heaven,  but  just 
a  kind  of  celestial  half-way  house  ;  our  own  earth 
made  heavenly  after  a  human  fashion,  to  enable 
us  to  take  by  degrees  to  beatitude. 

_B.  There  have  been  worse  fancies  about  the 
sun  than  that. 

D.  Don't  condescend  to  mention  'em.*    The 
very  best  must  be  unworthy  of  the  orb  whose 
heat  and  light  are  the  instruments  for  making  all 
these  beautiful  things.     And  yet,  unless  you  would 
have  everything  there  lilies  and  roses,  can  you  can- 
ceive  any  covering  fitter  for  the  hills  of  the  sun 

*  Nothing  is  meant  here  to  be  insinuated  against  specula- 
tions like  those  of  the  "Vestiges";  compared  with  which, 
nine  tenths  of  all  the  theology  that  was  ever  theologized  are 
but  so  much  ignorant  and  often  impious  babble. 


WILD  FLOWERS,  FURZE,  AND  WIMBLEDON.     19 

itself  than  this  magnificent  furze,  as  it  now  ap- 
pears here  in  England,  robing  our  heaths  and 
commons  all  over  the  country  ? 

There  is  an  advertisement  in  the  papers  an- 
nouncing a  building  project  at  Wimbledon  and 
Westhill.  The  houses  are  to  occupy  a  portion  of 
Wimbledon  Park  ;  and  boards  are  put  among  the 
trees  by  the  roadside,  boasting  of  the  "  fine  front- 
age." Well  may  they  boast  of  it,  especially  at 
this  season  of  the  year.  It  is  a  golden  undula- 
tion ;  a  foreground,  and  from  some  points  of  view 
a  middle  distance,  fit  to  make  the  richest  paint- 
er despair  ;  a  veritable  Field  of  Cloth  of  Gold. 
Morning  (Aurora,  the  golden  goddess),  when  the 
dawn  is  of  a  fineness  to  match,  must  look  beauty 
for  beauty  on  it.  Sunset  is  divine.  The  gold 
goes  stretching  away  in  the  distance  toward  the 
dark  trees,  like  the  rich  evening  of  a  poetic  life. 
No  wonder  Linnseus,  when  he  came  to  England 
and  first  beheld  this  glorious  shrub  in  bloom,  fell 
down  on  his  knees,  and  thanked  God  that  he  had 
lived  to  see  it.  No  wonder  statesmen  and  poli- 
ticians go  forth  to  lodge  about  the  place  for  a  lit- 
tle while,  to  procure  air  and  refreshment  ;  perhaps 
to  get  a  new  lease  of  existence  ;  perhaps  to  die 
where  they  may  still  find  something  beautiful  on 
earth — beautiful  enough  to  comfort  their  mistakes 
about  it,  and  to  prepare  them  for  a  place  where  it 
is  easier  to  look  for  flowers  than  revolutions.  As 
to  figures  in  the  landscape,  they  are  not  many,  nor 


20  TABLE-TALK. 

discordant ;  such  as  a  horse  or  two,  a  few  cattle, 
now  and  then  a  horseman,  or  a  sturdy  peasant  on 
foot,  or  a  beauty  in  a  barouche.  Sometimes  the 
peasant  is  aged,  but  hale  ;  or  sturdy,  though  but 
a  child  ; — signs  both  of  good  air,  and  prosperity, 
and  a  true  country  spot.  I  hardly  know  which  is 
the  more  picturesque  sight — a  fine,  ruddy-cheeked 
little  peasant-boy,  not  beyond  childhood,  coming 
along  with  a  wheelbarrow  full  of  this  golden 
furze,  his  face  looking  like  a  bud  a-top  of  it  ;  or 
a  bent,  hearty  old  man  (bent  with  age,  not  with 
his  perquisite)  carrying  off  a  bunch  of  it  on  his 
back,  as  if  he  triumphed  over  time  and  youth. 

Sometimes  you  meet  a  lady  coming  with  a 
bunch  of  hyacinths  ;  sometimes  a  fine  young  fel- 
low of  a  gentleman,  who  has  not  disdained  to 
stick  a  bit  of  furze  in  his  coat.  It  is  not  the  love 
of  flowers  that  makes  people  effeminate,  but  in- 
door habits  that  produce  a  craving  for  stimulants 
and  dread  of  trouble.  This  very  Wimbledon  Park 
was  once  occupied  by  a  cultivator,  and  even 
painter/  of  flowers,  whom  nobody  that  didn't  know 
him,  and  beheld  at  his  gentle  tasks,  would  have 
suspected  to  have  been  General  Lambert,  one  of 
the  boldest  and  most  independent  of  the,  officers 
of  Cromwell.  He  lived  there  in  the  interval  be- 
tween his  rival's  elevation  to  sovereign  power  and 
the  return  of  Charles  II.,  and  was  famous  for  the 
sums  he  gave  for  his  pinks  and  tulips. 


MISTAKES   OF  THE  PRESS.  21 

MISTAKES  OF  THE  PRESS. 

The  annals  of  law  and  typography  contain  the 
remarkable  fact  that  an  edition  of  the  Bible  was 
once  printed,  in  which  the  word  not,  to  the  hor- 
ror and  consternation  of  the  religious  world,  was 
left  out  of  the  seventh  commandment  !  They 
called  for  its  restoration  with  an  impatience  more 
creditable  to  their  zeal  than  their  sense  of  securi- 
ty ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  some  daring  theo- 
logians (who,  like  the  Catholics,  did  not  think 
themselves  tied  in  every  respect  to  those  letters 
of  the  old  law)  doubted  whether,  for  the  sake  of 
the  commandment  itself,  the  omission  had  not 
better  remain  as  it  was,  seeing  that,  "in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  the  prohibition  was  the  temptation." 

Mistakes  of  the  press  have  given  rise  to  such 
ludicrous  combinations,  that  a  small  wit  (Caleb 
Whitford)  obtained  a  reputation  solely  by  a  few 
articles  about  them  in  a  newspaper.  I  never,  in 
the  course  of  my  own  experience,  met  with  one 
of  a  more  astounding  aspect  than  the  following. 
It  is  innocent  of  all  scandal,  or  libel,  or  double 
meaning.  It  was  a  pure  mistake  of  the  printer, 
ludicrously  unintelligible,  and  threw  the  readers 
into  agonies  of  conjecture.  The  writer  had  ob- 
served that,  "  although  there  is  no  mention  either 
of  coffee  or  tobacco  in  the  '  Arabian  Nights,'  the 
former,  from  association  of  ideas  with  existing 
Eastern  manners,  always  reminded  him  of  that 


22  TABLE-TALK. 

delightful  book "  ;  and  then  followed  this  ex- 
traordinary sentence  :  "  as  sucking  does  for  the 
snow  season" 

This  mistake  was  so  high,  abundant,  and  ridic- 
ulous, that,  if  I  remember  rightly  (for  the  article 
was  my  own),  I  refused  to  correct  it.  I  thought 
it  better  to  leave  it  as  it  stood,  for  a  perpetual 
pleasure  of  astonishment  to  all  who  might  chance 
to  light  upon  the  pages  in  which  it  occurred. 

The  proper  words,  however,  were  these  :  "  as 
smoking  does  for  the  same  reason." 

MAY-TIME. 

Such  a  delightful  commencement  as  we  have 
had  of  the  month  of  May  is  a  perfect  godsend  ; 
for  our  climate  is  seldom  so  lucky.  May  is  a 
pretty  word  ;  a  charming  thing  in  books  and  po- 
ets ;  beautiful  always  in  some  degree  to  look  at, 
as  far  as  hedges  and  trees  go,  whatever  be  the 
state  of  the  weather  ;  that  is  to  say,  provided  you 
can  quit  the  fireside,  and  the  windows  are  not  too 
misty  with  rain  to  see  through.  But  the  hedges 
in  general  succeed  better  than  the  skies.  There 
is  apt  to  be  more  blossom  than  sunshine  ;  and 
people  lie  in  bed  on  May -morning,  and  wonder 
what  possessed  their  ancestors,  to  induce  them  to 
get  up  at  dawn,  and  go  poking  about  the  wet 
bushes. 

I  suspect  it  was  never  very  easy  to  reckon 


MAY-TIME.  23 

upon  a  fine  May-day  in  England.  If  the  wind 
was  in  a  good  quarter,  the  chances  were  that  it 
rained  ;  and,  if  the  sky  was  clear,  then  probably 
the  wind  was  in  the  east. 

"  Rough  winds  do  shake  the  darling  luda  of  May," 

says  a  lovely  verse  in  Shakespeare.  Our  ances- 
tors, however,  had  more  out-of-door  habits  than 
we,  and  seem  to  have  cared  little  for  east  winds. 
You  hear  a  great  deal  more  of  north  winds  than 
east  in  the  old  writers.  At  the  same  time,  we 
must  not  forget  that  our  May-day  comes  nearly  a 
fortnight  sooner  with  us  than  it  did  with  them. 
The  change  took  place  when  the  calendar  was 
altered,  about  a  hundred  years  back ;  and  the 
consequence  was,  that  the  May-day  of  our  ances- 
tors now  falls  on  the  12th  of  the  month.  The 
circumstance  gave  rise  to  some  verses  by  Mr. 
Lovibond,  a  gentleman  "  about  town  "  in  the  days 
of  Chesterfield  and  Walpole,  which  the  subject 
(and  the  prevailing  bad  taste  in  verses)  rendered 
popular.  They  were  called  "  The  Tears  of  Old 
May-day."  This  is  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Lovi- 
bond laments  : 

"  Onward  in  conscious  majesty  she  came," 
(To  wit,  poor  May  !) — 

"  The  grateful  honors  of  mankind  to  taste, 
To  gather  fairest  wreaths  of  future  fame," 

(What  is  the  meaning  of  that  ?) 


24  TABLE-TALK. 

"  And  blend  fresh  triumphs  with  her  glories  past. 

"  Yain  hope !     No  more  in  choral  bands  unite 

Her  virgin  vot'ries ;  and  at  early  dawn, 
Sacred  to  May  and  Love's  mysterious  rite, 
Brush  the  light  dew-drops  from  the  spangled  lawn. 

"  To  her  no  more  Augusta's  wealthy  pride 

Pours  the  full  tribute  from  PotosVs  mine  !  ! 
Nor  fresh-blown  garlands  village  maids  provide, 
A  purer  offspring  at  her  rustic  shrine,"  etc.,  etc. 

What  does  the  reader  take  to  have  been  "  the  full 
tribute  from  Potosi's  mine  "  ?  It  was  the  plate 
which  the  milkmaids  used  to  borrow  to  decorate 
their  Maypole. 

Compare  with  this  stuff  the  fresh,  impulsive 
verses  and  bright  painting  of  Spenser  : 

"  Then  cam&fair  May,  the  fairest  maid  on  ground, 
Decked  all  with  dainties  of  her  season's  pride, 
And  throwing  flowers  out  of  her  lap  around. 
Upon  two  brethren's  shoulders  she  did  ride, 
The  twins  of  Leda :  which,  on  either  side, 
Supported  her,  like  to  their  sovereign  queen. 
Loird  !  how  all  creatures  laughed  when  her  they  spied  ; 
And  leaped  and  danced  as  they  had  ravished  been ; 

And  Cupid's  self  about  her  fluttered  all  in  green." 

If  people,  then,  have  a  mind  to  try  the  proper 
old  May-day,  and  be  up  and  out  of  doors  among 
the  blossoms  when  Shakespeare  was,  or  Spenser's 
Rosalind,  or  the  pretty  queen  of  Edward  IV. 
(for  royalty  used  to  go  a-Maying  once),  next 


MALICE  OF  FORTUNE.  25 

Tuesday  is  their  time,  supposing  the  weather 
favorable,  and  good  folks  "  in  a  concatenation 
accordingly."  Only  they  must  take  care  how 
they  are  too  merry  ;  otherwise,  they  will  wake 
the  Tractarian  old  lady  next  door,  who  will  think 
the  world  is  going  to  be  at  an  end  if  people  are 
not  as  sleepy  and  stupid  as  herself. 

MALICE  OF  FORTUNE. 

Mr.  Green,  the  aeronaut,  has  had  an  escape 
from  a  death  which  would  have  looked  like  a 
mockery.  He  was  near  being  killed  by  his  bal- 
loon, not  aloft  in  the  clouds,  or  by  a  descent  like 
Phaeton,  but  in  a  cart  in  which  he  was  riding 
upon  it,  like  the  Welshman  on  his  cheese  in  the 
"Splendid  Shilling."  Mr.  Green's  courage  is  to 
be  congratulated  on  not  having  brought  him  to  so 
mock-heroical  a  pass.  The  greatest  trick  of  this 
sort  ever  played  by  Fortune  was  the  end  of  Bruce 
the  traveler,  who,  after  all  his  perils  by  flood  and 
by  field,  from  wars,  from  wild  beasts,  from  des- 
erts, from  savage  nations,  broke  his  neck  down 
his  own  staircase  at  home  !  It  was  owing  to  a 
slip  of  the  foot,  while  seeing  some  visitors  out 
whom  he  had  been  entertaining. 

This  was  the  very  anti-climax  of  adventure. 

BISHOPS  AND  BRAHMINS. 

I  hold  the  Church  of  England  in  great  respect 
for  several  reasons.  One  is,  that  it  lets  me  hold 


26  TABLE-TALK. 

my  own  form  of  Christian  opinion  without  moles- 
tation ;  another,  that  having  reformed  itself  once, 
and  to  no  little  extent,  it  can  do  so  again,  I  have 
no  doubt,  and  would  to-morrow  if  it  had  its  free 
way,  and  so  give  the  coup  de  grdce  in  this  coun- 
try to  the  last  pretenses  of  Popery.  A  third  rea- 
son is,  that  its  clergy,  upon  the  whole,  and,  con- 
<  sidering  their  number,  are  the  best  behaved,  most 
learned  and  most  reasonable,  most  gentle,  most 
truly  Christian,  in  Europe ;  the  occasional  ex- 
cesses of  individuals  among  them,  however  enor- 
mous, being  far  less  than  the  crimes  and  catastro- 
phes of  those  in  Catholic  nations,  originating  in 
causes  which  need  not  be  dwelt  upon. 

But  the  reasonableness  and  well-tempered  se- 
curity of  ordinary  clerical  existence  in  this  country 
give  rise  in  some  instances  to  scandals,  injurious 
in  proportion  to  their  very  seeming  warrant. 

Why  do  bishops,  who  won't  go  to  theatres, 
accept  invitations  to  public  dinners  ?  They  had 
much  better  be  seen  at  the  representation  of 
"Lear"  or  " Macbeth"  than  at  a  Lord  Mayor's 
fea^t.  It  has  an  unseemly  look  at  any  time, 
especially  in  your  fat  bishop,  and  most  especially 
when  the  reports  of  the  feast  in  the  newspapers 
are  followed  by  accounts  of  the  starving  poor. 
If  such  tremendous  inequalities  in  the  social  con- 
dition are  not  to  be  remedied,  why  mortify  the 
sufferers  ?  And  if  they  are,  why  exasperate  them  ? 
Reports  of  public  dinners,  let  the  guests  be  who 


BISHOPS  AND   BRAHMINS.  27 

they  may,  harmonize  ill  with  those  of  the  police- 
office  and  the  Poor-Laws  ;  but,  when  bishops  are 
among  the  diners,  the  scandal  is  doubled,  and  one 
is  astonished  they  do  not  see  it.  But  a  bishop 
seems  to  see  nothing  else,  when  a  dish  is  before 
him.  Observe — the  world  would  have  no  objec- 
tion to  his  being  fat  and  jolly,  if  he  made  no 
saintly  pretensions,  or  if  he  could  square  it  with 
appearances  in  other  respects,  and  his  duties  to 
the  unfed.  There  is  F.,  who  is  as  fat  as  any  one  of 
them,  and  who  has  brains  and  activity  enough  for 
the  whole  bench.  If  they  could  all  bestir  them- 
selves in  behalf  of  the  poor  as  he  does,  and  mani- 
fest as  unclouded  an  intellect,  I  am  not  sure  the 
public  would  not  rejoice  in  their  obesity,  and  re- 
gard it  as  the  right  and  privilege  of  those  who 
endeavored  to  spread  a  table  for  mankind.  Who 
could  have  grudged  his  fat  to  Berkeley?  or  to 
Luther  ?  or  to  good  Bishop  Jewel  (if  he  had  it)  ? 
or  to  that  pattern  of  a  prelate,  who  thought  it  a 
shame  to  have  a  hundred  pounds  in  the  hands  of 
his  steward  ?  But  when  bishops  and  their  fami- 
lies grow  rich,  while  the  poor  grow  poorer,  and 
when  it  is  the  rarest  thing  in  the  world  (with  the 
exception,  now  and  then,  of  a  Thirlwall  or  a  Stan- 
ley) to  find  them  attending  a  public  meeting  but 
for  selfish  or  corporate  purposes,  people  naturally 
dislike  to  see  them  fat  and  feeding,  especially 
when  they  come  in  the  lump  together,  as  at  these 
Lord  Mayor's  feasts.  Bishops  should  never  ap- 


28  TABLE-TALK. 

pear  in  flocks,  like  vultures.  There  is  an  adver- 
tiser of  after-dinner  pills,  who  recommends  the 
drug  by  long  lists  of  his  patrons,  including  almost 
the  whole  of  the  right  reverend  bench.  The  sight 
is  laughable,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  Many  honest 
friends  of  the  Establishment  think  it  deplorable. 
It  is  a  positive  proclamation  of  excess  ;  an  osten- 
tation of  apoplexy  ;  a  telling  the  world,  that  to 
be  a  bishop  and  to  want  boxes  of  pills  is  the  same 
thing.  Or,  if  we  are  to  take  it  as  a  mere  matter 
of  indifference  and  nonchalance,  it  becomes  so 
much  the  worse. 

ADVERTISER  (asking  permission  to  boast  of  his 
"favors").  "My  Lord  Bishop,  may  I  tell  the 
world  what  good  my  pills  do  to  your  lordship's 
indigestion  ?  " 

BISHOP.  "  Oh,  certainly." 

The  Hindoo  gentry  have  a  custom  among 
them  of  giving  feeds  to  their  bishops,  the  Brah- 
mins. It  is  a  fashion — an  emulation — and  prac- 
ticed on  great  family  occasions.  Every  nobleman 
tries  how  he  can  outdo  the  rest  of  his  class  in  the 
number  of  reverend  personages  he  can  get  to- 
gether, and  the  amount  of  food  he  can  induce 
them  to  swallow.  If  only  six  Brahmins  are 
brought  to  the  verge  of  apoplexy,  he  thinks  him- 
self ruined  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors.  What 
will  the  world  say  if  there  is  no  sickness  ?  How 
can  he  hold  up  his  head  should  no  clergyman  be 
carried  away  senseless  ?  Accordingly,  toward  the 


BISHOPS  AND  BRAHMINS.  29 

end  of  the  entertainment,  the  host  may  be  seen 
(this  is  no  fiction)  literally  beseeching  their  lord- 
ships the  Brahmins  to  get  down  another  plate  of 
curry. 

"  I've  eaten  fourteen,"  says  one  of  them,  gasp- 
ing. 

"  And  I  fifteen,"  says  another. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  says  the  host. 

"  Impossible,"  says  the  Brahmin. 

"  But  consider,  my  dear  lord,  you  ate  seven- 
teen at  Ram  Bulkee's." 

"  You  are  misinformed,  my  dear  sir." 

"Pardon  me,  they  were  counted  to  his  immor- 
tal honor." 

"  Thirteen  only,  on — my — sacred  word." 

"  Don't  favor  me  less,  I  implore  you.  See — 
only  this  one  other  mouthful." 

"Impracticable." 

"  I've  rolled  it  up,  to  render  it  the  more  easy." 

"  Consider  my  jaws." 

"But,  dear  lord— " 

"  Have  pity  on  my  oesophagus." 

"  But  my  name,  my  name — " 

"  My — dear — son,  stomachs  have  their  limits." 

"  But  not  your  lordship's  generosity." 

WIFE  (interposing).  "It  will  be  the  death  of 
my  husband,  if  you  don't  oblige  him." 

"Well,  this  one — (swallowing).  Ah — my — 
dear— son  ! — (Aside  to  himself.)  Why  did  our 
caste  establish  this  custom  ?  It  might  have  been 


30  TABLE-TALK. 

salutary  once  ;  but  now — O  Ram !  Ram !  I  can 
bear  it  no  longer." 

One  other  mouthful,  however,  still  is  got  down, 
the  host  is  a  man  of  such  meritorious  wealth  ;  yet 
he  was  obliged  to  implore  it  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
The  Brahmins  in  vain  pointed  to  their  own.  The 
host,  with  inexorable  pathos,  entreats  them  to  con- 
sider the  feelings  of  his  wife  and  children.  The 
mouthful  is  achieved,  Ram  Bulkee  beaten,  and 
the  reverend  f  easters  are  carried  off  to  bed,  very 
nearly  victimized  by  "the  wisdom  of  their  an- 
cestors "  and  clarified  butter. 

Such  are  the  inconveniences  that  may  arise 
from  customs  of  our  own  contriving  ;  and  such 
the  corporate  resemblances  among  the  priesthood 
of  the  most  distant  countries,  which  Christian 
bishops  might  do  well  to  avoid. 

THE  "BLESSED  RESTORATION." 

The  public  are  beginning  to  show  symptoms 
of  dislike  to  the  anniversary  of  what  is  equivo- 
cal!^ called  the  Blessed  Restoration^  and  the  re- 
tention of  it  in  so  grave  a  place  as  the  church. 
The  objection  is  not  new  ;  but  it  comes  with  new 
force  at  a  time  when  some  antics  of  superstition 
have  induced  the  growing  intelligence  of  the  com- 
munity to  look  at  the  abuses  of  religion  in  general 
and  to  wish  to  see  it  freed  from  every  species  of 
scandal.  People  have  certainly  been  in  the  habit 


THE   "BLESSED  RESTORATION."  31 

of  taking  strange  occasions  for  expressing  their 
gratitude  to  Heaven  ;  and  this  "  Blessed  Restora- 
tion "  is  not  one  of  the  least  extraordinary.  At 
all  events,  the  retention  of  it  as  a  sacred  day  is 
extraordinary,  when  we  consider  how  long  it  is 
since  the  character  of  Charles  and  his  court  have 
been  a  by-word.  But  the  custom  was  retained 
for  the  same  reason  that  set  it  up — not  to  thank 
God,  but  to  spite  those  who  differed.  The  gusto 
of  the  gratitude  was  in  proportion  to  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  enemy.  Cromwell  thanked  God  for 
the  head  of  Charles  the  First  on  a  scaffold,  and 
Charles  the  Second  thanked  God  for  the  head  of 
Cromwell  on  a  gibbet.  The  defenders  of  the  an- 
niversary, if  they  spoke  the  truth,  would  have 
vindicated  themselves  on  the  plea  that  they  did 
not  thank  God  for  Charles  at  all.  To  thank  Him 
for  Charles  would  have  been  to  thank  Him  for 
Cleveland  and  Buckingham  ;  for  the  pension  from 
the  French  king,  and  all  sorts  of  effronteries  and 
enormities.  Oh,  no ;  the  decorous  men  hated 
those.  It  was  for  no  vice  they  feted  him.  It  was 
for  the  virtuous  pleasure  of  galling  their  neigh- 
bors, and  of  doing  honor  to  Mother  Church  her- 
self, who  condescended  to  be  led  back  to  her  seat 
by  the  hand  of  the  gay  deceiver. 

Now,  Mother  Church  on  that  occasion  was  not 
the  right,  unpapal,  unpuritanical  unsophisticate 
Mother  Church,  old  as  no  church  at  all,  and  ever 
young  as  advancement,  but  one  of  her  spurious 


32  TABLE-TALK. 

representatives  ;  and  society  is  awaking  to  the 
necessity  of  having  no  more  such  masqueraders, 
but  seeing  the  beautiful,  gentle,  altogether  Chris- 
tian creature  as  she  is,  professing  nothing  that  she 
does  not  believe,  and  believing  nothing  that  can 
offend  the  wisest.  Tillotson,  Berkeley,  Which- 
cote,  have  had  sight  of  her.  Charles  the  Second's 
chaplains  knew  no  more  of  her  than  Dr.  Philpotts. 

THE  SUN". 

"No  mystery  in  creation  need  sadden  us,  as  long 
as  we  believe  nothing  of  the  invisible  world  infe- 
rior to  what  the  visible  proclaims.  Life  and  geni- 
ality predominate  ;  death  is  brief  ;  pain  fugitive ; 
beauty  universal ;  order  paramount  and  everlast- 
ing. What  a  shame,  to  know  that  the  sun,  the 
greatest  visible  object  in  our  universe,  combines 
equal  gentleness  with  power,  and  does  us  nothing 
but  good,  and  at  the  same  time  to  dare  to  think 
worse  of  its  Maker  ! 

BON-MOT  OF  A  COACHMAN. 

Commendation  beforehand  is  usually  but  a 
bad  preface  to  a  jest,  or  to  anything  else  ;  yet  I 
must  say  that  I  never  heard  anything  more  to  the 
purpose  than  the  reply  made  to  a  shabby  fellow  by 
the  driver  of  an  omnibus.  SHABBY,  on  hailing  the 
omnibus,  had  pathetically  intimated  that  he  had 
not  more  than  a  shilling,  so  that  he  could  not  pay 


BON-MOT  OF  A  COACHMAN.  33 

the  whole  fare,  which  was  eighteen  pence.  This 
representation  informd  pauperis  the  driver  good- 
naturedly  answered  by  desiring  the  gentleman  to 
get  in.  The  journey  being  ended,  SHABBY,  who 
had  either  been  too  loud  in  his  pathos  before  the 
passengers,  or  too  happy  in  the  success  of  it,  to 
think  of  getting  change  from  them  as  he  went 
(for  it  is  manifest,  from  what  followed,  that  he 
knew  he  had  more  than  he  pretended),  was  forced 
to  develop  from  his  purse  a  criminatory  half- 
crown  !  This  solid  body  of  self -refutation,  with- 
out pretending  any  surprise  on  his  own  part  at 
the  possession  of  it,  and  thus  availing  himself  of 
an  obvious  opportunity,  he  hands  to  the  coachman 
with  a  dry  request  for  the  difference.  The  coach- 
man, still  too  good-natured  to  take  any  verbal 
notice  of  the  pleasing  apparition,  but  too  wise 
not  to  do  himself  justice,  returns  twelve  pence  to 
SHABBY.  SHABBY  intimates  his  expectation  of 
the  sixpence. 

COACHMAN.    My  fare,  you  know,  sir,  is  eigh- 
teen pence. 

SHABBY.  Yes  ;  but  you  said  I  was  to  ride  for 
a  shilling. 

COACHMAN.  I  did  ;  but  you  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  you  had  no  more  in  your  pocket. 

SHABBY.  A  bargain's  a  bargain. 

COACHMAN.    Well,  then,  sir,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  you  must  know  that  I  am  the  greatest  liar 
on  the  road. 
3 


34  TABLE-TALK. 

SONG  OF  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

The  question  respecting  the  mirth  or  melan- 
choly of  the  nightingale,  which  of  late  years  is 
supposed  to  have  been  settled  in  favor  of  the 
gayer  side  by  some  fine  lines  of  Coleridge's,  sure- 
ly resolves  itself  into  a  simple  matter  of  associa- 
tion of  ideas.  Chaucer  calls  the  notes  of  the  bird 
"  merry  "  ;  but  the  word  merry,  in  Chaucer's  time, 
signified  something  alive  and  vigorous  after  its 
kind ;  as  in  the  instance  of  "merry  men"  in  the 
old  ballads,  and  "  merry  England "  ;  which  did 
not  mean  a  nation  or  set  of  men  always  laughing 
and  enjoying  themselves,  but  in  good  hearty  con- 
dition— a  state  of  manhood  befitting  men.  This 
point  is  determined  beyond  a  doubt  by  the  same 
poet's  application  of  the  word  to  the  organ,  as 
the  "  merry  organ  " — meaning  the  c^/wrcA-organ, 
which,  surely,  however  noble  and  organic,  is  not 
merry  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word. 

The  whole  matter  I  conceive  to  be  this.  The 
notes  \  of  the  nightingale,  generally  speaking,  are 
not  melancholy  in  themselves,  but  melancholy 
from  association  with  night-time,  and  from  the 
grave  reflections  which  the  hour  naturally  pro- 
duces. They  may  be  said  to  be  melancholy  also 
in  the  finer  sense  of  the  word  (such  as  Milton  uses 
in  his  "  Penseroso "),  inasmuch  as  they  express 
the  utmost  intensity  of  vocal  beauty  and  delight ; 
for  the  last  excessive  feelings  of  delight  are  al- 


OVID.  35 

ways  grave.  Levity  does  not  do  them  honor 
enough,  nor  sufficiently  acknowledge  the  appeal 
they  make  to  that  finiteness  of  our  nature  which 
they  force  unconsciously  upon  a  sense  of  itself, 
and  upon  a  secret  feeling  of  our  own  capabilities 
of  happiness  compared  with  the  brevity  of  it. 

OYID. 

Ovid  was  the  son  of  a  Roman  knight,  had  an 
easy  fortune,  and  (to  use  a  modern  phrase)  was 
one  of  the  gayest  and  most  popular  men  about 
town  in  Rome  for  nearly  thirty  years  ;  till,  owing 
to  some  mysterious  offense  given  to  the  court  of 
Augustus,  which  forms  one  of  the  puzzles  of  biog- 
raphy, he  was  suddenly  torn  from  house  and  home, 
without  the  least  intimation,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  and  sent  to  a  remote  and  wintry  place  of 
exile  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube.  Ovid  was  a 
good-natured  man,  tall  and  slender,  with  more 
affections  than  the  levity  of  his  poetical  gallantry 
leads  us  to  suppose.  His  gallantries  are  worth 
little,  and  have  little  effect ;  but  his  "  Metamor- 
phoses "  are  a  store  of  beautiful  Greek  pictures, 
and  tend  to  keep  alive  in  grown  people  the  feel- 
ings of  their  boyhood. 

THE   VOICE   OF  THE  ROOK. 

The  Saxon  word  rook  and  the  Latin  word  rau- 
cus  (hoarse)  appear  to  come  from  the  same  root ; 


36  TABLE-TALK. 

though  it  is  curious  that  neither  Latins  nor  Ital- 
ians have  a  name  for  the  rook  distinct  from  that 
of  crow  or  raven,  as  the  English  have.  The  same 
sense,  however,  of  the  hoarseness  of  the  bird's 
voice  seems  to  have  furnished  the  names  of  al- 
most all  the  Corvican  family — crow,  rook,  raven, 
daw,  corvus  and  comix  (Latin),  Jcorax  (Greek). 
When  the  rook  is  mentioned,  nobody  can  help 
thinking  of  his  voice.  It  is  as  much  identified 
with  him  as  bark  with  the  old  trees.  But  why  do 
naturalists  never  mention  the  kindly  chuckle  of 
the  young  crows?  particularly  pleasant,  good- 
humored,  and  infant-like  ;  as  different  from  the 
rough  note  of  the  elders  as  peel  is  from  bark,  or 
a  baby's  voice  is  from  that  of  a  man. 

HOW  LAWYEKS  GO  TO  HEAVEN. 

There  is  a  pleasant  story  of  a  lawyer,  who, 
being  refused  entrance  into  heaven  by  St.  Peter, 
contrived  to  throw  his  hat  inside  the  door  ;  and 
thenL  being  permitted  by  the  kind  saint  to  go  in 
and  f  fetch  it,  took  advantage  of  the  latter's  fixture 
as  doorkeeper  to  refuse  to  come  back  again. 

COLLINS  THE  POET. 

In  Mr.  Pickering's  edition  of  Collins  there  is 
an  engraved  likeness  of  the  poet,  the  only  one 
that  has  appeared.  Nothing  is  said  for  its  authen- 
ticity ;  it  is  only  stated  to  be  "  from  a  drawing 


COLLINS  THE  POET.  37 

formerly  in  the  possession  of  William  Seward, 
Esq."  ;  but  it  possesses,  I  think,  internal  evidence 
of  its  truth,  being  clouded,  in  the  midst  of  its 
beauty,  with  a  look  of  pride  and  passion.  There 
is  also  a  thick-stuffed  look  in  the  cheeks  and  about 
the  eyes,  as  if  he  had  been  overfed  ;  no  uncom- 
mon cause,  however  mean  a  one,  of  many  a  trouble 
in  after-life. 

The  dreadful  calamity  which  befell  the  poet 
has  generally  been  attributed  to  pecuniary  dis- 
tresses occasioned  by  early  negligence,  or  at  least 
to  habits  of  indolence  and  irresolution  which  grew 
upon  him.  His  biographer,  in  this  edition,  says, 
with  great  appearance  of  justice,  that  the  irreso- 
lution was  always  manifest ;  and  he  attributes  the 
calamity  to  a  weakness  of  mind  that  was  early 
developed.  But  whence  arose  the  weakness  of 
mind  ?  It  is  desirable,  for  the  common  interests 
of  mankind,  that  biographers  should  trace  char- 
acter and  conduct  to  their  first  sources  ;  and  it  is 
little  to  say  that  a  weakness  was  the  consequence 
of  a  weakness.  Collins's  misfortune  seems  to  have 
originated  in  the  combined  causes  of  delicacy  of 
bodily  organization,  want  of  guidance  on  the  part 
of  relations,  and  perhaps  in  something  of  a  ten- 
dency on  their  part  to  a  similar  malady.  His 
father,  a  hatter,  is  described  as  being  "  a  pompous 
man  "  ;  his  sister  pushed  avarice  and  resentment 
to  a  pitch  of  the  insane  ;  the  father  died  while 
his  son  was  a  boy,  the  mother  not  long  afterward  ; 


38  TABLE-TALK. 

his  uncle,  Colonel  Martin,  though  otherwise  very 
kind,  seems  to  have  left  him  to  his  own  guidance. 
The  poet  was  so  delicately  organized,  that  in  early 
life  he  expected  blindness  ;  and  this  ardent  and 
sensitive  young  man,  thus  left  to  himself,  con- 
scious of  great  natural  powers,  which  he  thought 
he  might  draw  upon  at  a  future  day,  and  posses- 
sing the  natural  voluptuousness  of  the  poetical 
temperament,  plunged  into  debt  and  pleasure  be- 
yond recovery,  and  thus,  from  a  combination  of 
predisposing  circumstances,  lost  his  wits.  I  think 
it  discernible  that  he  had  his  father's  pride,  though 
in  better  taste ;  and  also  that  he  partook  of  his 
sister's  vehemence,  though  as  generous  as  she  was 
stingy.  We  learn  from  Sir  Egerton  Brydges, 
that,  notwithstanding  his  delicacy  of  tempera- 
ment, his  shrieks  were  sometimes  to  be  heard 
from  the  cloisters  in  Chichester  to  such  an  excess 
as  to  become  unbearable.  "  Poor  dear  Collins  !  " 
we  involuntarily  exclaim  with  Dr.  Johnson  :  how 
much  we  owe,  pity,  and  love  him  !  One  can  love 
any  n^an  that  is  generous  ;  one  pities  Collins  in 
proportion  as  he  has  taught  us  to  love  Pity  her- 
self ;  and  I  for  one  owe  him  some  of  the  most 
delightful  dreams  of  my  childhood.  Of  my  child- 
hood, do  I  say?  Of  my  manhood — of  my  eter- 
nityhood,  I  hope  ;  for  his  dreams  are  fit  to  be 
realized  in  the  next  world. 

"  Thy  form,"  says  he,  in  his  "  Ode  to  Pity," 
speaking  of  the  God  of  War — 


COLLINS  THE  POET.  39 

"  Thy  form  from  out  thy  sweet  abode 

O'ertook  him  on  his  blasted  road, 
And  stopped  his  wheels,  and  looked  his  rage  away  1 " 

How  did  this  passage,  by  the  help  of  the  pretty 
design  by  Mr.  Kirk  in  Cooke's  edition  of  the 
poets,  affect  me,  and  help  to  engage  my  heart  for 
ever  in  the  cause  of  humanity  !  An  allegory  may 
be  thought  a  cold  thing  by  the  critics  ;  but  to  a 
child  it  is  often  the  best  representation  of  the 
truth  which  he  feels  within  him,  and  the  man  is 
so  far  fortunate  who  feels  like  the  child.  I  used 
to  fancy  I  saw  Pity's  house  on  the  roadside — a 
better  angel  than  those  in  Bunyan — and  the  sweet 
inmate  issuing  forth,  on  one  of  her  dewy  morn- 
ings, to  look  into  the  eyes  of  the  God  of  War 
and  turn  him  from  his  purpose. 

If  Collins  had  married  and  had  a  family,  or 
been  compelled  to  write  not  only  for  himself  but 
others,  it  is  probable  that  the  morbidity  of  his 
temperament  would  have  been  spared  its  fatal 
consequences  :  the  necessity  of  labor  might  have 
varied  his  thoughts,  and  sympathy  turned  his 
very  weakness  into  strength.  A  good  heart  can 
hardly  be  conscious  of  belonging  to  many  others, 
and  not  distribute  itself,  as  it  were,  into  their 
being,  and  multiply  its  endurance  for  their  sake. 
But  Collins  might  have  had  such  an  opinion  of 
his  disease  as  to  think  himself  bound  to  remain 
single. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  greatest  under- 


40  TABLE-TALK. 

standings,  through,  whatever  dangers  they  may 
pass  from  excess  of  thought,  are  liable  to  be 
finally  borne  down  by  it.  They  seize  upon  every 
help,  and  acquire  the  habit  of  conquest.  But  I 
suspect  Collins  to  have  been  not  only  of  a  race 
overstocked  with  passion,  but  a  spoiled  child, 
habituated  to  the  earliest  indulgence  of  his  feel- 
ings ;  and  the  infirmity  may  have  become  so 
strong  for  him  as  to  render  such  a  piece  of  self- 
denial  at  once  the  most  painful  and  most  reason- 
able of  his  actions.  One  retires  with  reverence 
before  the  possibility  of  such  a  trial  of  virtue ; 
and  can  only  end  with  hoping  that  the  spirit 
which  has  given  such  delight  to  mankind  is  now 
itself  delighted. 

A  FACT. 

The  powers  of  the  printing-press  are  very  ex- 
traordinary ;  yet  the  imaginations  even  of  the 
dull  can  outstrip  them.  A  woman,  I  have  been 
told,  absolutely  went  into  a  bookseller's  shop,  said 
sh^  was  going  farther,  and  requested  to  have  a 
Bible  which  should  be  "small  in  size,  large  in 
type,  and  printed  by  the  time  she  came  back." 
It  was  to  a  similar  application  that  a  bookseller 
replied  :  "  I  see  what  you  want,  madam  ;  a  pint- 
pot  that  will  hold  a  quart."  More  things  of  this 
kind  have  been  related,  probably  with  truth  ;  for 
there  are  as  many  strange  truths  of  ignorance  as 
of  knowledge. 


CLERICAL  TITLES.  41 

THE  TWO   CONQUERORS. 

When  Goethe  says  that  in  every  human  con- 
dition foes  lie  in  wait  for  us,  "  vincible  only  by 
cheerfulness  and  equanimity,"  he  does  not  mean 
that  we  can  at  all  times  be  really  cheerful,  or  at 
a  moment's  notice  ;  but  that  the  endeavor  to  look 
at  the  better  side  of  things  will  produce  the  habit; 
and  that  this  habit  is  the  surest  safeguard  against 
the  danger  of  sudden  evils. 

CLERICAL  TITLES. 

It  is  a  pity  that  the  clergy  do  not  give  up  the 
solemn  trifling  of  some  of  their  titles.  Their  titu- 
lar scales  and  gradations  of  merit  become  very 
ludicrous  on  inspection.  Thus  you  may  have  a 
reverence  for  a  curate  of  an  apostolical  life,  sup- 
posing it  possible  to  have  it  for  a  poor  man  ;  but 
you  can  have  no  right  reverence.  A  bishop  is  the 
only  man  who  is  "  Right  Reverend."  The  curate 
can  not  even  be  "  Venerable,"  however  he  may 
be  venerated  :  it  is  the  archdeacon  that  is  Vener- 
able. Again,  a  prebendary  is  not  Most  Reverend, 
though  he  is  Very  :  the  dean  is  the  only  man  that 
is  Most  Reverend.  There  is  a  prevailing  rever- 
ence in  the  prebendary  :  he  is  valde  reverendus  ; 
but  the  dean  is  filled  and  saturated  and  overflow- 
ing with  venerability;  he  is  superlatively  reverend 
— reverendissimus.  These  distinctions  often  take 


42  TABLE-TALK. 

place  in  the  same  man,  in  the  course  of  a  minute. 
An  archdeacon  for  instance  is  dining,  and  has  just 
swallowed  his  sixty-ninth  mouthful ;  during  which 
operation  he  was  only  Venerable.  A  messenger 
comes  in,  and  tells  him  that  he  is  a  dean  ;  upon 
which  he  spills  the  gravy  for  joy,  and  is  Most 
Reverend. 

HORACE  WALPOLE   AND  PINKERTOK 

Pinkerton  was  a  man  of  an  irritable  and  over- 
weening mediocrity.  His  correspondence  with 
Beattie,  Percy,  and  others,  is  curious  for  little 
more  than  the  lamentable  evidence  it  affords  of 
the  willingness  of  grave  men  to  repay  the  flat- 
teries of  a  literary  tyro,  in  a  style  which  unques- 
tionably did  Mr.  Pinkerton  great  harm  in  after- 
life, and  which  is  quite  enough  to  account  for  the 
height  of  presumption  to  which  it  suffered  his 
irritability  to  carry  him.  Those  of  Horace  Wak 
pole,  who  contributed  to  the  mischief,  are  the 
best.  Like  all  the  letters  of  that  celebrated  per- 
son, whose  genius  was  a  victim  to  his  rank,  they 
are  remarkable  for  their  singular  union  of  fine 
sense,  foppery,  and  insincerity.  He  praises  Mr. 
Pinkerton  desperately  at  first ;  then  gets  tired 
of  him,  and  mingles  his  praise  with  irony.  Mr. 
Pinkerton  finds  out  the  irony,  and  complains  of 
it  ;  upon  which  the  man  of  quality  has  the  impu- 
dence to  vow  he  is  serious,  and  proceeds  to  hoax 
him  the  more. 


HORACE  WALPOLE   AND  PINKERTOX.  43 

One  of  Mr.  Pinkerton's  fantastic  contrivances 
to  supply  his  want  of  originality  was  a  specula- 
tion for  improving  the  English  tongue  by  the  ad- 
dition of  vowels  to  its  final  consonants.  The  num- 
ber of  final  s's  in  our  language  is  certainly  a  fault. 
It  is  a  pity  we  do  not  retain  the  Saxon  plural  ter- 
mination in  en,  which  we  still  have  in  the  word 
oxen — as  housen  for  houses,  etc.  But  as  changes 
for  the  worse  grow  out  of  circumstances,  so  must 
changes  for  the  better  ;  especially  upon  points  on 
which  the  world  can  feel  themselves  but  feebly 
interested.  What  would  the  Stock  Exchange 
care  for  consolso  instead  of  consols  ?  or  the  poor 
for  breado,  if  they  could  but  get  bread?  or  even 
a  lover,  who  has  naturally  a  propensity  to  soft 
words,  for  a  faira  brida,  provided  he  has  the 
lady?  Yet  upon  improvements  no  wiser  than 
these  did  Mr.  Pinkerton  and  his  correspondents 
busy  themselves.  One  of  them  talks  of  quieto 
nyto,  meaning  a  quiet  night ;  and  honesta  shep- 
herda  and  shepherdeza  ! 

Pinkerton  sometimes  encouraged  Walpole  him- 
self to  get  in  a  fantastic  humor.  Peter  Pindar 

says  : 

"  My  cousin  Pindar  in  his  odes 
Applauded  horse-jockeys  and  gods." 

Walpole  expressed  a  serious  opinion  that  a  new 
Pindar  might  do  likewise — that  all  the  English 
games  might  be  rendered  poetical  like  those  of 
the  ancients  ;  forgetting  the  differences  of  occa- 


44  TABLE-TALK. 

sion,  custom,  religion,  and  a  totally  different  state 
of  society.  A  serious  panegyric  on  a  gentleman's 
horse  might  undoubtedly  be  well  received  by  the 
owner,  and  the  poet  invited  to  dinner  to  hear  a 
delicious  conversation  on  bets  and  chances  ;  but  a 
ballad  would  do  better  than  an  ode.  The  latter 
would  require  translation  into  the  vulgar  tongue. 

JEWS. 

In  our  thoughts  of  old-clothesmen  and  de- 
spised shopkeepers,  we  are  accustomed  to  forget 
that  the  Jews  came  from  the  East,  and  that  they 
still  partake  in  their  blood  of  the  vivacity  of  their 
Eastern  origin.  We  forget  that  they  have  had 
their  poets  and  philosophers,  both  gay  and  pro- 
found, and  that  the  great  Solomon  was  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  amatory  poets,  of  writers  of 
epicurean  elegance,  and  the  delight  of  the  whole 
Eastern  world,  who  exalted  him  into  a  magician. 
There  are  plentiful  evidences,  indeed,  of  the  vi- 
vacity of  the  Jewish  character  in  the  Bible.  They 
were  liable  to  very  ferocious  mistakes  respecting 
their  neighbors,  but  so  have  other  nations  been 
who  have  piqued  themselves  on  their  refinement ; 
but  we  are  always  reading  of  their  feasting,  danc- 
ing and  singing,  and  harping  and  rejoicing.  Half 
of  David's  imagery  is  made  up  of  allusions  to 
these  lively  manners  of  his  countrymen.  But  the 
Bible  has  been  read  to  us  with  such  solemn  faces, 


SMOLLETT.  45 

and  associated  with  such  false  and  gloomy  ideas, 
that  the  Jews  of  old  become  as  unpleasant  though 
less  undignified  a  multitude  in  our  imaginations 
as  the  modern.  We  see  as  little  of  the  real  do- 
mestic interior  of  the  one  as  of  the  other,  even 
though  no  people  have  been  more  abundantly 
described  to  us.  The  moment  we  think  of  them 
as  people  of  the  East,  this  impression  is  changed, 
and  we  do  them  justice.  Moses  himself,  who, 
notwithstanding  his  share  of  the  barbarism  above 
mentioned,  was  a  genuine  philosopher  and  great 
man,  and  is  entitled  to  our  eternal  gratitude  as 
the  proclaimer  of  the  Sabbath,  is  rescued  from 
the  degrading  familiarity  into  which  the  word 
Moses  has  been  trampled,  when  we  read  of  him 
in  D'Herbelot  as  Moussa  ben  Amran  ;  and  even 
Solomon  becomes  another  person  as  the  Great 
Soliman  or  Soliman  ben  Daoud,  who  had  the  ring 
that  commanded  the  genii,  and  sat  with  twelve 
thousand  seats  of  gold  on  each  side  of  him,  for 
his  sages  and  great  men. 

SMOLLETT. 

Though  Smollett  sometimes  vexes  us  with  the 
malicious  boy's-play  of  his  heroes,  and  sometimes 
disgusts  with  his  coarseness,  he  is  still  the  Smol- 
lett whom  now,  as  in  one's  boyhood,  it  is  impos- 
sible not  to  heartily  laugh  with.  He  is  an  accom- 
plished writer,  and  a  masterly  observer,  and  may 


46  TABLE-TALK. 

be  called  the  finest  of  caricaturists.  His  carica- 
tures are  always  substantially  true  :  it  is  only 
the  complexional  vehemence  of  his  gusto  that 
leads  him  to  toss  them  up  as  he  does,  and  tumble 
them  on  our  plates.  Then  as  to  the  objections 
against  his  morality,  nobody  will  be  hurt  by  it. 
The  delicate  and  sentimental  will  look  on  the 
whole  matter  as  a  joke  ;  the  accessories  of  the 
characters  will  deter  them:  while  readers  of  a 
coarser  taste,  for  whom  their  friends  might  fear 
most,  because  they  are  most  likely  to  be  conver- 
sant with  the  scenes  described,  are,  in  our  opinion, 
to  be  seriously  benefited. by  the  perusal;  for  it 
\vill  show  them  that  heroes  of  their  description 
are  expected  to  have  virtues  as  well  as  faults,  and 
that  they  seldom  get  anything  by  being  positively 
disagreeable  or  bad.  Our  author's  lovers,  it  must 
be  owned,  are  not  of  the  most  sentimental  or  flat- 
tering description.  One  of  their  common  modes 
of  paying  their  court,  even  to  those  they  best 
love  and  esteem,  is  by  writing  lampoons  on  other 
women!  Smollett  had  a  strong  spice  of  pride 
and  malice  in  him  (greatly  owing,  we  doubt  not, 
to  some  scenes  of  unjust  treatment  he  witnessed 
in  early  youth),  which  he  imparts  to  his  heroes  ; 
all  of  whom,  probably,  are  caricatures  of  himself, 
as  Fielding's  brawny,  good-natured,  idle  fellows 
are  of  him.  There  is  no  serious  evil  intention, 
however.  It  is  all  out  of  resentment  of  some  evil, 
real  or  imaginary  ;  or  is  made  up  of  pure  animal 


CHEMISTRY.  47 

spirit  and  the  love  of  venting  a  complexion al  sense 
of  power.  It  is  energy,  humor,  and  movement, 
not  particularly  amiable,  but  clever,  entertaining, 
and  interesting,  and  without  an  atom  of  hypocrisy 
in  it.  No  man  will  learn  to  be  shabby  by  reading 
Smollett's  writings. 

CHEMISTRY. 

We  eat,  drink,  sleep,  and  are  clothed  in  things 
chemical ;  the  eye  that  looks  at  us  contains  them  ; 
the  lip  that  smiles  at  the  remark  is  colored  by 
them  ;  we  shed  tears  (horriMle  dictu  /)  of  soda- 
water.  Bnt  we  need  not  be  humiliated.  Roses 
and  dew-drops  contain  the  same  particles  as  we  ; 
custom  can  not  take  away  the  precious  mystery 
of  the  elements  ;  the  meanest  compounds  contain 
secrets  as  dignified  as  the  most  lofty.  The  soul 
remains  in  the  midst  of  all,  a  wondrous  magician, 
turning  them  to  profit  and  beauty. 

A  good  book  about  chemistry  is  as  entertain- 
ing as  a  romance.  Indeed,  a  great  deal  of  ro- 
mance, in  every  sense  of  the  term,  has  always 
been  mixed  up  with  chemistry.  This  most  useful 
of  the  sciences  arose  out  of  the  vainest ;  at  least 
the  art  of  making  gold,  or  the  secret  of  the  phi- 
losopher's stone  (for  chemistry  originally  meant 
nothing  more),  has  hitherto  had  nothing  to  show 
for  itself  but  quackery  and  delusion.  What  dis- 
coveries the  human  mind  may  arrive  at,  it  is  im- 


48  TABLE-TALK. 

possible  to  say.  I  am  not  for  putting  bounds  to 
its  possibilities,  or  saying  that  no  Columbuses  are 
to  arise  in  the  intellectual  world,  who  shall  as  far 
surpass  the  other  as  the  universe  does  our  hemi- 
sphere. But  meanwhile  chemistry  supplied  us 
with  food  for  romances  before  it  took  to  regulat- 
ing that  of  the  stomach,  or  assisting  us  in  the 
conquest  of  the  world  material.  We  owe  to  it 
the  classification  and  familiar  intimacy  of  the 
Platonical  world  of  spirits,  the  Alchemists  of 
Chaucer  and  Ben  Jonson,  partly  even  of  the 
"  Rape  of  the  Lock."  Paracelsus's  Daemon  of 
the  stomach  was  the  first  that  brought  the  spirit- 
ual and  medical  world  into  contact :  in  other 
words,  we  owe  to  that  extraordinary  person,  who 
was  an  instance  of  the  freaks  played  by  a  great 
understanding  when  it  is  destitute  of  moral  sensi- 
bility, the  first  application  of  chemical  knowledge 
to  medicine.  The  amiable  and  delightful  Cullen, 
in  whom  an  extreme  humanity  became  a  profound 
wisdom  (and  the  world  are  still  to  be  indebted  to 
htm  in  morals  as  well  as  physics),  was  the  first 
who  enlarged  the  science  into  the  universal  thing 
which  it  is  now.  This  was  not  a  hundred  years 
ago.  To  what  a  size  has  it  not  grown  since,  like 
the  vapory  giant  let  out  of  the  casket ! 


PETTY  CONVENIENCES  AND  COMFORTS.       49 

PETTY  CONVENIENCES  AND  COMFORTS. 

The  locks  and  keys,  and  articles  on  a  par  with 
them,  in  Tuscany,  are,  perhaps,  the  same  now  that 
they  were  in  the  days  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici.  The 
more  cheerful  a  nation  is  in  ordinary,  or  the  hap- 
pier its  climate,  the  less  it  cares  for  those  petty 
conveniences  which  irritable  people  keep  about 
them,  as  a  set-off  to  their  want  of  happiness  in  the 
lump.  A  Roman  or  a  Tuscan  will  be  glad  enough 
to  make  use  of  an  English  razor  when  he  gets  it ; 
but  the  point  is,  that  he  can  do  better  without  it 
than  the  Englishman.  We  have  sometimes  seen 
in  the  face  of  an  Italian,  when  English  penknives 
and  other  perfections  of  manufacture  have  been 
shown  him,  an  expression,  mixed  with  his  wonder, 
of  something  like  paternal  pity,  as  if  the  excess 
of  the  thing  was  childish.  It  seemed  to  say  :  "  Ah, 
you  can  make  those  sort  of  things,  and  we  can  do 
without  them.  Can  you  make  such  knicknacks 
as  Benvenuto  Cellini  did — carcanets  and  caskets, 
full  of  exquisite  sculpture,  and  worth  their  weight 
in  jewels  ?  " 

And  there  is  reason  in  this.  It  is  convenient 
to  have  the  most  exquisite  penknives  ;  but  it  is  a 
greater  blessing  to  be  able  to  do  without  them. 
No  reasonable  man  would  stop  the  progress  of 
manufacture,  for  a  good  will  come  of  it  beyond 
what  was  contemplated.  But  it  is  not  to  be  de- 
nied, meanwhile,  that  the  more  petty  conveniences 
4 


50  TABLE-TALK. 

we  abound  in,  the  more  we  become  the  slaves  of 
them,  and  the  more  impatient  at  wanting  them 
where  they  are  not.  Not  having  the  end,  we  keep 
about  us  what  we  take  for  the  means.  Cultivators 
of  better  tempers  or  happier  soils  get  at  the  end 
by  shorter  cuts.  The  only  real  good  of  the  ex- 
cessive attention  we  pay  to  the  conveniences  of 
life  is,  that  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  and  the 
desire  of  advancement  proceed  in  company  with 
it ;  and  that  happier  nations  may  ultimately  be- 
come still  happier  by  our  discoveries,  and  improve 
us,  in  their  turn,  by  those  of  their  livelier  nature. 

TEARS. 

Sympathizing  and  selfish  people  are  alike  given 
to  tears,  if  the  latter  are  selfish  on  the  side  of 
personal  indulgence.  The  selfish  get  their  senses 
into  a  state  to  be  moved  by  any  kind  of  excite- 
ment that  stimulates  their  languor,  and  take  a 
wonderful  degree  of  pity  on  themselves  ;  for  such 
is  th^  secret  of  their  pretended  pity  for  others. 
You  may  always  know  it  by  the  fine  things  they 
say  of  their  own  sufferings  on  the  occasion.  Sen- 
sitive people,  on  the  other  hand,  of  a  more  gener- 
ous sort,  though  they  can  not  always  restrain  their 
tears,  are  accustomed  to  do  so,  partly  out  of  shame 
at  being  taken  for  the  others,  partly  because  they 
can  less  afford  the  emotion.  The  sensitive  selfish 
have  the  advantage  in  point  of  natural  strength, 


DR.   ALDRICH.  51 

being  often  as  fat,  jolly  people  as  any,  with  a 
trick  of  longevity.  George  IV.,  with  all  his  tears, 
and  the  wear  and  tear  of  his  dinners  to  boot,  last- 
ed to  a  reasonable  old  age.  If  he  had  been  shrewd- 
er, and  taken  more  care  of  himself,  he  might  have 
lived  to  a  hundred.  But  it  must  be  allowed  that 
he  would  then  have  been  still  more  selfish  than  he 
was  ;  for  these  luxurious  weepers  are  at  least  gen- 
erous in  imagination.  They  include  a  notion  of 
other  people  somehow,  and  are  more  convertible 
into  good  people  when  young.  The  most  selfish 
person  we  ever  met  with  was  upward  of  a  hun- 
dred, and  had  the  glorious  reputation  of  not  being 
movable  by  anything  or  anybody.  He  lasted  as 
a  statue  might  last  in  a  public  square,  which  would 
see  the  whole  side  of  it  burn  with  moveless  eyes 
and  bowels  of  granite." 

DR.  ALDBICH. 

Aldrich,  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  built  some 
well-known  and  admired  structures  at  Oxford  ; 
was  a  musician  as  well  as  architect ;  wrote  the 
famous  "  Smoking  Catch  "  (being  accomplished  in 
the  smoking  art  also)  ;  was  the  author  of  "  Hark  ! 
the  Bonny  Christ  Church  Bells,"  a  composition  of 
great  sprightliness  and  originality  ;  and  has  the 
reputation  of  being  an  elegant  Latin  poet.  His 
Latin  verses  are  to  be  met  with  in  the  "Musse 
Anglicans  "  ;  but  we  do  not  remember  them,  mi- 


52        .  TABLE-TALK. 

less  the  following  hexameters  be  among  the  num- 
ber : 

"  Si  bene  quid  memini,  causffl  sunt  quinque  bibendi : 
Hospitis  adventus,  prsesens  sitis,  atque  futura, 
Aut  vini  bonitas,  aut  quoelibet  altera  causa." 

Which  has  been  thus  translated,  perhaps  by  the 
author,  for  the  version  is  on  a  par  with  the  origi- 
nal : 

"  If  on  my  theme  I  rightly  think, 
There  are  five  reasons  why  men  drink : 
Good  wine,  a  friend,  or  being  dry, 
Or  lest  we  should  be  by-and-by, 
Or  any  other  reason  why." 


LORD  MAKOHMONT'S  RECEIPT  FOB  LONGEV- 
ITY. 

Lord  Marchmont,  the  friend  of  Pope,  lived  to 
the  age  of  eighty-six,  preserving  his  strength  and 
faculties  to  the  last.  He  rode  out  only  five  days 
before  he  died.  Sir  John  Sinclair,  who  knew  him, 
wishecE  to  ascertain  the  system  he  pursued,  and 
received  for  answer  that  his  lordship  always  lived 
as  other  people  did,  but  that  he  had  laid  down 
when  young  one  maxim,  to  which  he  rigidly  ad- 
hered, and  to  which  he  attributed  much  of  his 
good  health,  namely  : 

Now,  what  do  you  think  this  maxim  was  ? 
Never  to  exceed  in  his  eating?  No.  Never  to 
lie  late  in  bed  ?  No.  Never  to  neglect  exercise  ? 


LORD  MARCHMONT'S  RECEIPT  FOR  LONGEVITY.  53 

Never  to  take  much  physic  ?  Never  to  be  rakish, 
to  be  litigious,  to  be  ill-tempered,  to  give  way  to 
passion  ?  No,  none  of  these.  It  was 

Never  to  mix  his  wines. 

What  luxurious  philosophies  some  people  have  ! 
My  Lord  Marchmont  was  resolved  to  be  a  long- 
lived,  virtuous,  venerable  man  ;  and  therefore  he 
laid  it  down  as  a  maxim,  Never  to  mix  his  wines. 
To  get  one  glass  of  wine,  in  their  extreme  weak- 
ness, is  what  some  human  beings,  bent  double 
with  age,  toil,  and  rheumatism,  can  seldom  hope 
for  ;  while  another  of  the  race,  having  nothing  to 
bend  him  and  nothing  to  do,  shall  become  a  glo- 
rious' example  of  the  beauty  of  this  apostolical 
maxim  —  "  Never  to  mix  your  wines."  Lord 
Marchmont  did  accordingly  for  many  years  gen- 
erously restrict  himself  to  the  use  of  claret ;  but 
his  physicians  having  forbidden  him  to  take  that 
wine  on  account  of  its  acidity,  he  resolved,  with 
equal  self-denial,  to  "  confine  himself  to  Burgun- 
dy "  ;  and  accordingly,  with  a  perseverance  that 
can  not  be  sufficiently  commended,  he  "took  a 
bottle  of  it  every  day  for  fifteen  years." 

The  noble  lord  was  a  good  man,  however,  and 
his  "  neat,  as  imported,"  is  not  to  be  grudged 
him.  All  we  have  to  lament  is,  that  thousands, 
as  good  as  he,  have  not  an  atom  either  of  his 
pleasure  or  his  leisure. 


54  TABLE-TALK. 

THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTIOK 

There  is  something  in  the  history  of  the 
American  Revolution  extremely  dry  and  unat- 
tractive. This  is  owing  partly  perhaps  to  the 
moneyed  origin  of  it,  partly  to  the  want  of  per- 
sonal anecdotes,  to  the  absence  of  those  interest- 
ing local  and  historical  associations  which  abound 
in  older  states,  and  to  the  character  of  Washing- 
ton ;  who,  however  admirable  a  person,  and  fitted 
as  if  by  Providence  to  the  task  which  he  effected, 
was  himself,  personally,  of  a  dry  and  unattractive 
nature,  an  impersonation  of  integrity  and  straight- 
forwardness, exhibiting  none  of  the  social  or  ro- 
mantic qualities  which  interest  us  in  other  great 
men.  For  similar  reasons,  the  American  Indians 
are  the  least  interesting  of  savages.  Their  main 
object  has  been  to  exhibit  themselves  in  an  apa- 
thetic or  stoical  character,  and  they  have  suffered 
in  human  sympathy  accordingly. 

DISCOVERERS  OF  AMERICA. 

It  is  painful  to  reflect  on  the  calamitous  cir- 
cumstances under  which  these  high-minded  ad- 
venturers were  accustomed  to  terminate  their 
careers,  however  brilliant  their  successes  by  the 
way.  They  got  riches  and  territory  for  others, 
and  generally  died  in  poverty,  often  of  wounds 
and  disease,  sometimes  by  the  hands  of  the  execu- 


DISCOVERERS  OF  AMERICA.  55 

tioner.  Pinzon,  who  first  crossed  the  equinoctial 
line  in  the  New  Hemisphere  and  discovered  Bra- 
zil, got  nothing  by  his  voyage  of  discovery  but 
heavy  losses.  Nicuesa  disappeared,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  have  perished  at  sea.  Yaldivia  was 
killed  and  eaten  by  cannibals.  Ponce  de  Leon, 
who  thought  to  discover  the  fountain  of  youth, 
died  of  a  wound  exasperated  by  mortified  pride 
and  disappointment.  The  lofty  and  romantic  Don 
Alonzo  de  Ojeda  died  so  poor  that  he  did  not 
leave  money  enough  to  provide  for  his  interment ; 
and  so  broken  in  spirit  that  with  his  last  breath 
he  entreated  that  his  body  might  be  buried  in  the 
monastery  of  San  Francisco,  just  at  the  portal,  in 
humble  expiation  of  his  past  pride,  that  "  every 
one  who  entered  might  tread  upon  his  grave." 
And  Yasco  Nunez  de  Balboa,  one  of  the  best  of 
the  old  brotherhood,  perished  on  the  scaffold,  a 
victim,  like  Columbus,  to  envy.  It  is  to  be  recol- 
lected, however,  that  such  men  accomplish  the 
first  object  of  their  amibition — renown  ;  and  that 
life,  and  not  death,  is  the  main  thing  by  which 
we  are  to  judge  of  their  happiness. 

WONDER  NEVER  CEASES. 

It  might  be  thought  that  the  progress  of  sci- 
ence would  destroy  the  pleasure  arising  from  the 
perusal  of  works  of  fiction,  by  showing  us  the  me- 
chanical causes  of  phenomena,  and  so  leading  us 


56  TABLE-TALK. 

to  conclude  that  the  utmost  wonders  we  could  im- 
agine might  with  equal  reason  be  referred  to  simi- 
lar causes.  In  other  words,  no  wonder  is  greater 
than  any  other  wonder  ;  and,  if  once  explained,  it 
ceases  to  be  a  wonder.  "  Wonder,"  it  has  been 
said,  "is  the  effect  of  novelty  upon  ignorance." 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  said  better,  that  won- 
der is  the  effect  of  want  of  familiarity  upon  ig- 
norance :  for  there  are  many  things  that  excite 
our  wonder,  though  far  from  new  to  us  or  to  our 
reflections  ;  such  as  life  and  death,  the  phenome- 
na of  the  planets,  etc.  But  to  say  nothing  of  the 
inexhaustible  stock  of  novelties,  wonders  could 
never  cease  in  anything  till  we  knew  their  first  as 
well  as  their  final  causes.  We  must  understand 
how  it  is  that  substance,  and  motion,  and  thought 
exist,  before  we  can  cease  to  admire  them  :  the 
very  power  of  writing  a  fairy  tale  is  as  great  a 
wonder  as  anything  it  relates.  And  thus,  while 
we  think  to  frighten  away  the  charms  of  fable 
and  poetry  with  the  sound  of  our  shuttles  and 
steam-engines,  they  only  return  the  more  near  to 
us,  settle  smiling  on  the  very  machinery,  and  (to 
say  nothing  of  other  sympathies)  demand  admira- 
tion on  the  very  same  grounds. 

DALY,  THE  DUBLIN  MANAGER. 

Daly,  patentee  of  the  Dublin  Theatre,  was 
one  of  those  iron-hearted  and  brazen-faced  black- 


DALY,  THE    DUBLIN  MANAGER.  57 

guards,  who,  in  an  age  when  knowledge  is  on  the 
increase,  are  not  so  likely  to  be  taken  for  clever 
fellows  as  they  used  to  be  ;  being  in  fact  no  other 
than  scoundrels  in  search  of  a  sensation,  and  will- 
ing to  gratify  it,  like  wild  beasts,  at  the  risk  of 
any  price  to  the  sufferer.  Such  fellows  do  not 
abound  with  courage  :  they  merely  have  one  of 
an  honorable  man's  drawbacks  upon  ferocity.  To 
talk  of  their  other  gallantry  would  be  equally  pre- 
posterous. Even  of  animal  impulse  they  know 
no  more  than  others.  They  only  know  no  re- 
straint. Give  a  man  good  health,  and  take  from 
him  all  reflection  and  every  spark  of  love,  and 
you  have  the  human  wild  beast  called  Daly.  His 
best  excuse  was  his  squint.  There  was  some  smack 
of  salvation  in  that,  for  it  looks  as  if  he  resented 
it. 

"  Richard  Daly,  Esq.,  patentee  of  the  Dublin 
Theatre  "  (says  Boaden's  "Life  of  Mrs.  Jordan  "), 
"  was  born  in  the  county  of  Galway,  and  educated 
at  Trinity  College.  As  a  preparation  for  the 
course  he  intended  to  run  through  life,  he  had 
fought  sixteen  duels  in  two  years,  three  with  the 
small-sword  and  thirteen  with  pistols  ;  and  he,  I 
suppose,  imagined,  like  Macbeth,  with  equal  con- 
fidence and  more  truth,  that  he  bore  a  '  charmed 
life ' ;  for  he  had  gone  through  the  said  sixteen 
trials  of  his  nerve  without  a  single  wound  or 
scratch  of  much  consequence.  He,  therefore, 
used  to  provoke  such  meetings  on  any  usual  and 


58  TABLE-TALK. 

even  uncertain  grounds,  and  entered  the  field  in 
pea-green,  embroidered  and  ruffled  and  curled,  as 
if  he  had  been  to  hold  up  a  very  different  ball, 
and  gallantly  presented  his  full  front,  conspicuous- 
ly finished  with  an  elegant  brooch,  quite  regard- 
less how  soon  the  labors  of  the  toilet  *  might  soil 
their  honors  in  the  dust.'  Daly,  in  person,  was 
remarkably  handsome,  and  his  features  would 
have  been  agreeable  but  for  an  inveterate  and 
most  distressing  squint,  the  consciousness  of  which 
might  keep  his  courage  eternally  upon  the  look- 
out for  provocation,  and  not  seldom,  from  sur- 
prise alone,  afford  him  an  opportunity  for  this  his 
favorite  diversion.  Like  Wilkes,  he  must  have 
been  a  very  unwelcome  adversary  to  meet  with 
the  sword,  because  the  eye  told  the  opposite  party 
none  of  his  intentions.  Mr.  Daly's  gallantry  was 
equal  at  least  to  his  courage,  and  the  latter  was 
often  necessary  to  defend  him  in  the  unbridled 
indulgence  that  through  life  he  permitted  to  the 
former.  He  was  said  to  be  the  general  lover  in 
his  theatrical  company ;  and,  I  presume,  the  re- 
sistance of  the  fair  to  a  manager  may  be  some- 
what modified  by  the  danger  of  offending  one 
who  has  the  power  to  appoint  them  to  parts, 
either  striking  or  otherwise,  and  who  must  not 
be  irritated  if  he  can  not  be  obliged.  It  has  been* 
said,  too,  that  any  of  his  subjects  risked  a  great 
deal  by  an  escape  from  either  his  love  or  his  tyr- 
anny ;  for  he  would  put  his  bond  in  force  upon 


LIGHT  AND   COLORS.  59 

the  refractory,  and  condemn  to  a  hopeless  impris- 
onment those  who,  from  virtue  or  disgust,  had 
determined  to  disappoint  him." 

LIGHT  AND  COLORS. 

Light  is,  perhaps,  the  most  wonderful  of  all 
visible  things  ;  that  is  to  say,  it  has  the  least  anal- 
ogy to  other  bodies,  and  is  the  least  subject  to 
'  secondary  explanations.  No  object  of  sight  equals 
it  in  tenuity,  in  velocity,  in  beauty,  in  remoteness 
of  origin,  and  closeness  of  approach.  It  has  "  no 
respect  of  persons."  Its  beneficence  is  most  im- 
partial. It  shines  equally  on  the  jewels  of  an 
Eastern  prince  and  on  the  dust  in  the  corner  of 
a  warehouse.  Its  delicacy,  its  power,  its  utility, 
its  universality,  its  lovely  essence,  visible  and  yet 
intangible,  make  up  something  godlike  to  our  im- 
aginations; and,  though  we  acknowledge  divinities 
more  divine,  we  feel  that  ignorant  as  well  as  wise 
fault  may  be  found  with  those  who  have  made  it 
an  object  of  worship. 

One  of  the  most  curious  things  with  regard  to 
light  is,  that  it  is  a  body,  by  means  of  which  we 
become  sensible  of  the  existence  of  other  bodies. 
It  is  a  substance  ;  it  exists  as  much  in  the  space 
between  our  eyes  and  the  object  it  makes  known 
to  us  as  it  does  in  any  other  instance  ;  and  yet 
we  are  made  sensible  of  that  object  by  means  of 
the  very  substance  intervening.  When  our  in- 


60  TABLE-TALK. 

quiries  are  stopped  by  perplexities  of  this  kind, 
no  wonder  that  some  awe-stricken  philosophers 
have  thought  further  inquiry  forbidden ;  and  that 
others  have  concluded,  with  Berkeley,  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  substance  but  in  idea,  and  that 
the  phenomena  of  creation  exist  but  by  the  will 
of  the  Great  Mind,  which  permits  certain  apparent 
causes  and  solutions  to  take  place,  and  to  act  in 
a  uniform  manner.  Milton  doubts  whether  he 
ought  to  say  what  he  felt  concerning  light : 

"  Hail,  holy  Light,  offspring  of  Heaven  first-born, 
Or  of  the  eternal  coeternal  beam, 
May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light, 
And  never  but  in  an  unapproached  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity,  dwelt  there  in  thee, 
Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate." 

And  then  he  makes  that  pathetic  complaint,  dur- 
ing which  we  imagine  him  sitting  with  his  blind 
eyes  in  the  sun,  feeling  its  warmth  upon  their 
lids,  while  he  could  see  nothing  : 

"...  Thee  I  revisit  safe, 
And  feel  thy  sovran  vital  lamp ;  but  thou 
Kevisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn." 

As  color  is  imparted  solely  by  the  different 
rays  of  light  with  which  they  are  acted  upon, 
the  sun  literally  paints  the  flowers.  The  hues  of 
the  pink  and  rose  literally  come,  every  day,  direct 
from  heaven. 


VERSIONS  OF  ANCIENT  LYRICS.  61 

VERSIONS   OF  ANCIENT  LYRICS. 

The  more  we  consider  Anacreon  and  the  an- 
cient lyrics,  the  more  probable  it  seems  that  some 
degree  of  paraphrase  is  necessary,  to  assimilate 
them  in  effect  to  the  original.  We  are  to  recol- 
lect that  the  ancient  odes  were  written  to  be  sung 
to  music  ;  that  the  poet  himself  was  the  first  per- 
former ;  and  that  the  idea  of  words  and  music 
was  probably  never  divided  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader.  The  spirit  of  enjoyment  is  a  spirit  of 
continuousness.  We  may  suppose  what  we  like 
of  Greek  simplicity  and  brevity,  especially  in  their 
epigrams  or  inscriptions,  the  shortness  of  which 
was  most  likely  prescribed,  in  the  first  instance, 
by  the  nature  of  the  places  on  which  they  were 
written  ;  but  we  may  be  pretty  certain  that  the 
shortest  of  Anacreon's  songs  was  made  three,  or 
four,  or  five  times  as  long  as  it  appears  to  us,  by 
the  music  with  which  it  was  accompanied.  Take 
a  song  of  Metastasio's,  as  set  by  Arne  or  Mozart, 
and  we  shall  find  the  duration  of  it  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  in  the  study  and  the  theatre.  The  only 
true  way,  therefore,  of  translating  an  ode  of  Anac- 
reon, is  to  sympathize  as  much  as  possible  with 
his  animal  spirits,  and  then  to  let  the  words  flow 
as  freely  as  they  will,  with  as  musical  and  danc- 
ing a  melody  as  possible,  so  as  to  make  the  flow 
and  continuity  of  the  verse  as  great  a  substitute 
as  possible  for  the  accompaniment  of  the  lyre. 


62  TABLE-TALK. 

The  only  versions  of  Anacreon  in  the  English 
language  that  are  really  worth  anything,  are 
those  of  Cowley;  and  these  are  as  paraphrastic 
as  they  are  joyous. 


CATHARINE  II.  OF  RUSSIA. 

As  long  as  she  had  everything  her  own  way, 
Catharine  could  be  a  very  pleasant,  vain,  de- 
bauched, fat-growing,  all-tolerant  mistress,  inter- 
changing little  homages  with  the  philosophers  ; 
but  as  soon  as  philosophy  threatened  to  regard  the 
human  race  as  of  more  consequence  than  one  wo- 
man, adieu  to  flattery  and  to  France.  The  French 
then  were  only  worthy  of  being  "  drubbed." 

Catharine  was  a  clever  German,  with  a  great 
deal  of  will,  among  a  nation  of  barbarians.  This 
is  the  clew  to  her  ascendancy.  In  a  more  south- 
ern country  she  would  probably  have  been  little 
thought  of,  in  comparison  with  what  she  was 
reputed  as  the  "  mother  "  of  her  great  clownish 
family  of  Russians. 

NOTE. — That  the  arbitrary  have  always  had  a 
tendency  to  grow  fat,  for  the  same  reason  that 
inclines  them  to  be  furious.  The  same  people 
who  can  deny  others  everything  are  famous  for 
refusing  themselves  nothing. 


PETRARCH  AND  LAURA.  63 

PETRARCH  AND   LAURA. 

There  is  plenty  of  evidence  in  her  lover's 
poetry  to  show  that  Laura  portioned  out  the 
shade  and  sunshine  of  her  countenance  in  a  man- 
ner that  had  the  instinctive  effect  of  artifice, 
though  we  do  not  believe  there  was  any  intention 
to  practice  it.  And  this  is  a  reasonable  conclu- 
sion, warranted  by  the  experience  of  the  world. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  suppose  Laura  a  perfect 
character,  in  order  to  excite  the  love  of  so  ima- 
ginative a  heart  as  Petrarch's.  A  good  half  or 
two  thirds  of  the  love  may  have  been  assignable 
to  the  imagination.  Part  of  it  was  avowedly  at- 
tributable to  the  extraordinary  fidelity  with  which 
she  kept  her  marriage  vow  to  a  disagreeable  hus- 
band, in  a  city  so  licentious  as  Avignon,  and, 
therefore,  partook  of  that  not  very  complimenta- 
ry astonishment  and  that  willingness  to  be  at  an 
unusual  disadvantage,  which  make  chastity  cut  so 
remarkable  a  figure  amid  the  rakeries  of  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher.  Furthermore,  Laura  may  not 
have  understood  the  etherealities  of  Petrarch.  It 
is  possible  that  less  homage  might  have  had  a 
greater  effect  upon  her  ;  and  it  is  highly  probable 
(as  Petrarch,  though  he  speaks  well  of  her  natural 
talents,  says  she  had  not  been  well  educated)  that 
she  had  that  instinctive  misgiving  of  the  fine 
qualities  attributed  to  her,  which  is  produced  even 
in  the  vainest  of  women  by  flights  to  which  they 


64  TABLE-TALK. 

are  unaccustomed.  It  makes  them  resent  their 
incompetency  upon  the  lover  who  thus  strangely 
reminds  them  of  it.  Most  women,  however,  would 
naturally  be  unwilling  to  lose  such  an  admirer, 
especially  as  they  found  the  admiration  of  him 
extend  in  the  world  ;  and  Laura  is  described  by 
her  lover  as  manifestly  affected  by  it.  Upon  the 
whole,  I  should  guess  her  to  have  been  a  very 
beautiful,  well-meaning  woman,  far  from  insensi- 
ble to  public  homage  of  any  sort  (she  was  a  splen- 
did dresser,  for  instance),  and  neither  so  wise  nor 
so  foolish  as  to  make  her  seriously  responsible  for 
any  little  coquetries  she  practiced,  or  wanting  in 
sufficient  address  to  practice  them  well.  Her  his- 
tory is  a  lofty  comment  upon  the  line  in  "  The 
Beggars'  Opera  " — 

u  By  keeping  men  off,  you  keep  them  on." 

As  to  the  sonnets  with  which  this  great  man 
immortalized  his  love,  and  which  are  full  of  the 
most  wonderful  beauties,  small  and  great  (the  ver- 
sification being  surprisingly  various  and  charming, 
and  the  conceits  of  which  they  have  been  accused 
being  for  the  most  part  as  natural  and  delightful 
as  anything  in  them,  from  a  propensity  which  a 
real  lover  has  to  associate  his  mistress  with  every- 
thing he  sees),  justice  has  been  done  to  their  gen- 
tler beauties,  but  not,  I  think,  to  their  intensity 
and  passion.  Romeo  should  have  written  a  criti- 
cism on  Petrarch's  sonnets.  He  would  have  done 


MORAL  AND  PERSONAL  COURAGE.  65 

justice  both  to  their  "  conceits  "  and  their  fervor. 
I  think  it  is  Ugo  Foscolo  who  remarks  that  Pe- 
trarch has  given  evidence  of  passion  felt  in  soli- 
tude, amounting  even  to  the  terrible.  His  tem- 
perament partook  of  that  morbid  cast  which  makes 
people  haunted  by  their  ideas,  and  which,  in  men 
of  genius,  subjects  them  sometimes  to  a  kind  of 
delirium  of  feeling,  without  destroying  the  truth 
of  their  perceptions.  Petrarch  more  than  once 
represents  himself  in  these  sonnets  as  struggling 
with  a  propensity  to  suicide  ;  nor  do  we  know 
anything  more  affecting  in  the  record  of  a  man's 
struggles  with  unhappiness  than  the  one  contain- 
ing a  prayer  of  humiliation  to  God  on  account  of 
his  passion,  beginning 

"Padre  del  ciel,  dopo  i  perduti  giorni " — 
(Father  of  heaven,  after  the  lost  days). 

The  commentators  tell  us  that  it  was  written 
on  a  Good  Friday,  exactly  eleven  years  from  the 
commencement  of  his  love. 


MORAL  AND  PERSONAL  COURAGE. 

In  all  moral  courage  there  is  a  degree  of  per- 
sonal ;  personal  is  sometimes  totally  deficient  in 
moral,  The  reason  is,  that  moral  courage  is  a 
result  of  the  intellectual  perceptions  and  of  con- 
science ;  whereas  a  man  totally  deficient  in  those 
may  have  nerves  or  gall  enough  to  face  any  dan- 
5 


66  TABLE-TALK. 

ger  which  his  body  feels  itself  competent  to  op- 
pose. When  the  physically  courageous  man  comes 
into  the  region  of  mind  and  speculation,  or  when 
the  question  is  purely  one  of  right  or  wrong,  he  is 
apt  to  feel  himself  in  the  condition  of  the  sailor 
who  confessed  that  he  was  afraid  of  ghosts,  be- 
cause he  "  did  not  understand  their  tackle."  When 
moral  courage  feels  that  it  is  in  the  right,  there  is 
no  personal  daring  of  which  it  is  incapable. 

TIGHT-LACING. 

It  is  a  frequent  matter  of  astonishment  why 
females  should  persist  in  tight-lacing  when  so 
much  is  said  against  it,  and  how  it  happens  that 
they  should  take  what  is  really  a  deformity  for 
something  handsome.  The  first  part  of  this  mys- 
tery is  answered  by  the  second  :  they  think  the 
waist  produced  by  tight-lacing  a  beauty  ;  and  the 
reason  why  they  think  so  is,  that  they  know  a 
small  waist  to  be  the  object  of  admiration,  and 
they  feel  that  they  can  never  persuade  you  it  is 
small  without  forcing  the  smallness  upon  your 
eyes,  and  thus  forcing  you  to  acknowledge  it. 
On  the  contrary,  the  spectator  feels  that,  if  the 
waist  were  really  small,  so  much  pains  would  not 
be  taken  to  convince  him  of  it.  But  this  the  poor 
creatures  will  not  consider.  Every  one  thinks 
that  there  will  be  an  exception  in  her  favor. 
Other  women,  she  allows,  make  themselves  ridic- 


TIGHT-LACING.  67 

ulous,  and  attempt  to  impose  upon  us  ;  with  her- 
self the  case  is  different  :  everybody  must  see 
that  her  waist  is  really  small.  Therefore  she  goes 
lacing  and  lacing  on,  till  she  becomes  like  a  wasp  ; 
and  everybody  who  follows  her  in  the  street  laughs 
at  her. 

Some  of  these  waists  are  of  such  frightful 
tenuity  as  to  strike  the  least  thinking  observer 
with  their  ugliness.  The  other  day  there  was  a 
young  lady  walking  before  me  in  the  street,  whose 
waist  literally  seemed  no  thicker  than  a  large  arm. 
The  poor  girl  had  marked  herself  for  death. 
Some  of  the  most  vital  parts  of  her  body  must 
have  been  fairly  lapped  over  one  another,  or 
squeezed  into  a  mass.  My  first  sensation,  on  see- 
ing this  phenomenon,  was  horror  at  the  monstrosi- 
ty ;  the  second  was  vexation  with  the  poor  silly 
girl ;  the  third  was  pity.  The  ground  of  the 
stupid  custom  is  sympathy,  however  mistaken. 
The  poor  simpletons  wish  for  our  admiration,  and 
do  not  know  how  hard  they  try  to  gain  our  con- 
tempt. We  ought  to  be  the  less  provoked,  be- 
cause in  all  these  yearnings  after  social  approba- 
tion there  is  the  germ  of  a  great  preferment  for 
the  community  ;  since  the  same  people  who  now 
make  themselves  so  ridiculous,  and  get  so  much 
death  and  disease,  by  pursuing  false  means  of  ob- 
taining our  good  opinion,  would,  in  a  wiser  state 
of  society,  be  led  as  vehemently  to  adopt  the  true. 
Instead  of  going  about  half  stifled  with  bad  vitals 


68  TABLE-TALK. 

and  ready-made  coroner's  inquests,  the  poor  crea- 
tures would  then  be  anxious  to  show  us  that  they 
were  natural  healthy  females,  fit  to  be  wives  and 
mothers.  At  present,  if  they  can  be  mothers  at 
all,  it  is  frightful  to  think  what  miseries  they  may 
inflict  on  their  offspring. 

GRAVITY  AND  INDUSTRY  OF  DANCERS. 

One  of  Addison's  happy  papers  in  the  "  Spec- 
tator "  (and  how  numerous  they  are  !)  contains  an 
account  of  a  mysterious  personage  who,  lodging 
at  the  same  house  as  his  observer  and  making  a 
great  noise  one  day  over  his  head,  was  watched 
by  some  of  his  fellow  lodgers  through  the  key- 
hole. They  observed  him  look  gravely  on  a  book, 
and  then  twirl  round  upon  one  leg.  He  looked 
gravely  again,  and  put  forth  his  leg  in  a  different 
manner.  A  third  time  he  fell  to  studying  pro- 
foundly, and  then,  darting  off  with  vivacity,  took 
a  career  round  the  room.  The  conclusion  was,  if 
I  remember,  that  he  was  some  mad  gentleman. 
The  peepers,  however,  ventured  in,  and  upon  in- 
quiry found  that  he  was  a  dancing-master.  The 
Spectator,  who  had  joined  them,  concluded  by  re- 
questing that  the  gentleman  would  be  pleased  in 
future  to  addict  himself  with  less  vehemence  to 
his  studies,  since  they  had  cost  him  that  morning 
the  loss  of  several  trains  of  thought,  besides 
breaking  a  couple  of  tobacco-pipes. 


GRAVITY  AND  INDUSTRY  OF  DANCERS.        69 

They  who  have  seen  the  grave  faces  and  lively 
legs  of  some  of  the  opera-dancers,  can  easily  un- 
derstand the  profundities  of  this  master  of  their 
art ;  nor  will  they  fall  into  the  mistake  of  young 
people  in  supposing  that  a  dancer  has  nothing  to 
do  but  to  be  lively  and  enjoy  himself.  M.  Blasis, 
the  author  of  a  work  on  the  art,  says  that  the 
dancer  must  be  always  practicing,  otherwise  he  is 
in  danger  of  losing  what  he  has  acquired.  Some 
muscle  will  get  out  of  practice,  some  shiver  of  the 
left  leg  be  short  of  perfection.  Furthermore,  he 
must  follow  neither  "  simple  unpracticed  theo- 
rists," nor  the  "  imaginary  schemes  of  innovat- 
ing speculators."  He  must  also  be  temperate 
and  sober  ;  nay,  must  "  partially  renounce  every 
pleasure  but  that  which  Terpsichore  affords  "  ; 
must  not  think  of  horsemanship,  fencing,  or  run- 
ning ;  must  study  the  antique,  drawing,  and  mu- 
sic, but  particularly  his  own  limbs  ;  and,  if  he 
aspire  to  the  composition  of  ballets,  must  have  a 
profound  knowledge  of  the  drama  and  of  human 
nature.  See  now,  you  who  reflect  but  little,  how 
much  it  takes  to  bring  a  man  to  a  right  state  of 
pirouette ;  what  world  of  accomplishment  there 
is  in  that  little  toe,  which  seems  pointed  at  no- 
thing ;  and  what  a  right  the  possessor  of  it  has  to 
the  grave  face  which  has  so  often  puzzled  conjec- 
ture. He  seems  to  be  merely  holding  the  tip  of  a 
lady's  finger  ;  but  who  is  to  know  what  is  passing 
through  his  mind  ? 


70  TABLE-TALK. 

"  Use  your  endeavors,"  saith  Blasis,  "  to  twirl 
delicately  round  on  the  points  of  your  toes." 
Here  we  feel  in  a  state  of  anxiety,  with  a  world 
of  labor  before  us.  In  another  sentence,  one 
hardly  knows  in  what  sense  we  are  to  take  his 
words — whether  as  an  encouragement  to  tranquil- 
lity of  mind,  or  an  injunction  to  acquire  lissom- 
ness  in  the  body.  "  Make  yourself  easy,"  quoth 
he,  "  about  your  hips." 

ADVERTISEMENTS. 

Advertisements  are  sometimes  very  amusing. 
They  give  insights  into  the  manners  of  the  times 
no  less  interesting  than  authentic.  Suppose  the 
ancients  had  possessed  a  press,  and  that  a  volume 
of  a  Roman  "  Post "  or  "  Chronicle  "  had  been 
dug  up  at  Herculaneum,  with  what  curiosity 
should  we  not  contemplate  the  millinery  of  the 
Roman  ladies,  or,  "  "Wanted,  a  Gladiator  to  fight 
the  last  new  lion  "  ;  or,  "  Next  Ides  of  November 
willTbe  published  the  new  poem  of  Quintus  Hora- 
tius  Flaccus  "  ;  or  a  long  account  of  a  court-day 
of  Nero  or  Antoninus  !  The  best  editions  of  the 
"  Tatler  "  and  "  Spectator  "  have  very  properly  re- 
tained a  selection  of  the  Advertisements. 

SPORTSMEN  AND   CUSTOM. 

There  are  unquestionably  many  amiable  men 
among  sportsmen,  who,  as  the  phrase  is,  would 


BEARS  AND   THEIR  HUNTERS.  71 

not  "  hurt  a  fly  "  — that  is  to  say,  on  a  window. 
At  the  end  of  a  string,  the  case  is  altered.  So 
marvelous  are  the  effects  of  custom  and  educa- 
tion. Consoling  thought,  nevertheless  !  for  if 
custom  and  education  have  been  so  marvelous  in 
reconciling  intelligent  men  to  absurdities,  and 
humane  men  to  cruelty,  what  will  they  not  effect 
when  they  shall  be  on  the  side  of  justice  ?  when 
reason,  humanity,  and  enjoyment  shall  become 
the  three  new  graces  of  the  civilized  world  ?  It 
has  been  said  that  absurdities  are  necessary  to 
man  ;  but  nobody  thinks  so  who  is  not  their 
victim.  With  occupation,  leisure,  and  healthy 
amusement,  all  the  world  would  be  satisfied. 

BEARS  AND  THEIR   HUNTERS. 

It  is  natural  in  bear-hunters,  who  have  wit- 
nessed the  creature's  ravages,  and  felt  the  peril  of 
his  approach,  to  call  him  a  ferocious  animal,  and 
gift  him  at  times  with  other  epithets  of  objec- 
tion ;  but  we  who  sit  in  our  closets,  far  removed 
from  the  danger,  may  be  allowed  to  vindicate  the 
character  of  the  bear,  and  to  think  that  Bruin, 
who  is  only  laboring  in  his  vocation,  and  is  not 
more  ferocious  than  hunger  and  necessity  make 
him,  might,  with  at  least  equal  reason,  have  ad- 
vanced some  objections  against  his  invader.  He 
might  have  said,  if  he  possessed  a  little  ./Esopean 
knowledge  of  mankind  :  "  Here,  now,  is  a  fellow 


72  TABLE-TALK. 

coming  to  kill  me  for  getting  my  dinner,  who 
eats  slaughtered  sheep  and  lobsters  boiled  alive  ; 
who,  with  the  word  *  ferocity '  in  his  mouth,  puts 
a  ball  into  my  poor  head,  just  as  the  highwayman 
vindicates  himself  by  abusing  the  man  he  shoots  ; 
and  who  then  writes  an  account  of  his  humane 
achievement  with  a  quill  plucked  from  the  body 
of  a  bleeding  and  screaming  goose." 

Or,  knowing  nothing  of  mankind,  he  might 
say  :  "  Here  comes  that  horrid  strange  animal  to 
murder  us,  who  sometimes  has  one  sort  of  head 
and  sometimes  another  (hat  and  cap),  and  who 
carries  another  terrible  animal  in  his  paw — a 
kind  of  stiff  snake — which  sends  out  thunder 
and  lightning  ;  and  so  he  points  his  snake  at 
us,  and  in  an  instant  we  are  filled  with  burning 
wounds,  and  die  in  agonies  of  horror  and  desper- 
ation." 

There  is  much  resemblance  to  humanity  in 
the  bear.  I  would  not  make  invidious  compari- 
sons ;  but  travelers  as  well  as  poets  have  given 
us  beautiful  accounts  of  the  maternal  affections 
of  the  bear.  And  furthermore,  the  animal  re- 
sembles many  respectable  gentlemen  whom  we 
could  name.  When  he  wishes  to  attack  anybody, 
he  rises  on  his  hind  legs,  as  men  do  in  the  House 
of  Commons  ;  he  dances,  as  aldermen  do,  with 
great  solemnity  and  weight  ;  and  his  general  ap- 
pearance, when  you  see  Mm  walking  about  the 
streets  with  his  keeper,  is  surely  like  that  of  many 


SELF-STULTIFICATION.  73 

a  gentleman  in  a  great-coat,  whose  enormity  of 
appetite  and  the  recklessness  with  which  he  in- 
dulges in  it  entitle  him  to  have  a  keeper  also. 

SELF-STULTIFICATION. 

The  highest,  most  deliberate,  peremptory,  and 
solemn  instance  perhaps  on  record  of  this  species 
of  absurdity,  is  the  dismissal  of  his  court-fool, 
Archibald  Armstrong,  by  Charles  I.  in  council. 
Archy,  as  he  was  called,  had  given  mortal  offense 
to  Laud  by  ridiculing  his  attempts  at  church- 
domination.  It  is  related  of  him  that  he  once 
said,  by  way  of  grace  before  dinner,  "  Great 
praise  to  the  King,  and  Little  Laud  to  the  devil." 
But  the  last  feather  that  broke  the  back  of  the 
Archbishop's  patience  was  Archibald  saying  to 
him,  on  the  failure  of  his  liturgy  in  Scotland, 
"  Who's  fool  now  ? "  Laud  complained  to 
Charles  ;  Charles  summoned  his  council  to  take 
cognizance  of  the  dreadful  matter  ;  and  accord- 
ingly, at  "  Whitehall,  on  the  eleventh  of  March, 
one  thousand  six  hundred  and  thirty-seven,  pres- 
ent the  King's  Most  Excellent  Majesty,  the  Lord 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  Lord  Keeper, 
Lord  Treasurer,  Lord  Privy  Seal,"  and  fourteen 
other  great  personages,  Archibald  Armstrong, 
"  the  King's  fool,"  for  certain  scandalous  words, 
of  a  "  high  nature,"  and  "  proved  to  be  uttered 
by  him  by  two  witnesses,"  was  sentenced  to  have 


74  TABLE-TALK. 

"  his  coat  pulled  over  his  ears,"  and  discharged 
from  his  Majesty's  service. 

What  was  this  but  saying  that  the  fool  was  a 
fool  no  longer  ?  "  "Write  me  down  an  ass,"  says 
Dogberry  in  the  comedy.  Write  down  that 
Archy  is  no  fool,  says  King  Charles  in  council  ; 
he  has  called  the  Archbishop  one  ;  and  therefore 
we  are  all  agreed,  the  Archbishop  included,  that 
the  man  has  proved  himself  to  be  entitled  no 
longer  to  the  appellation. 

COWSLIPS. 

A  country-girl  the  other  day  expressed  her 
astonishment  that  ladies  could  see  anything  to 
admire  in  "  cowslips."  Now,  here  was  an  instance 
of  the  familiarity  that  breeds  contempt.  Cow- 
slips are  among  the  most  elegant  of  the  spring 
flowers.  They  look,  with  those  pretty  sleeves  of 
theirs,  like  ladies  themselves  in  their  morning 
dresses.  But  the  country-girl  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  whole  fields  of  them,  and  to  associate 
them  with  wet  and  mire,  and  Farmer  Higgins. 

Shakespeare  mentions  cowslips  seven  times, 
primroses  just  as  often,  and  violets  fourteen.  He 
says  nothing  of  anemones  or  hyacinths.  I  gather 
this  from  Mrs.  Clarke's  "  Concordance,"  which, 
besides  being  admirably  what  it  professes  to  be, 
suggests  curious  speculations  as  to  the  greater  or 
less  likings  of  Shakespeare,  his  habitual  associa- 


APRIL  FOOLS.  75 

tions  of  ideas,  etc.  ;  and  it  might  be  made  subser- 
vient to  interesting  inquiries  on  those  subjects. 

APRIL  FOOLS. 

An  anniversary  of  this  kind,  in  which  stultifi- 
cation is  the  order  of  the  day,  appears  to  take 
place  about  the  same  time  of  the  year  all  over  the 
civilized  world.  Yet  it  would  look  more  like  a 
custom  originating  in  some  one  particular  coun- 
try than  most  of  those  which  are  thought  to  have 
had  such  commencements  ;  for  it  is  as  difficult 
not  to  imagine  ordinary  holidays  and  supersti- 
tions the  natural  growth  of  every  human  com- 
munity as  it  would  be  to  suppose  that  all  the 
world,  at  one  particular  season,  agreed  to  make 
fools  of  one  another  without  knowing  it. 

There  are  solemn  people  whose  dignity  can 
not  bear  to  be  disturbed,  let  the  season  be  never 
so  full  of  gayety.  It  is  such  a  fragile  and  empty 
pretension,  they  are  afraid  that  the  least  touch 
will  knock  it  to  pieces.  Not  so  with  the  wiser. 
They  rejoice  in  every  good  which  Nature  has  be- 
stowed on  them,  mirth  included  ;  and  are  only 
balked  by  the  presence  of  the  incompetent.  The 
celebrated  Dr.  Clarke  was  once  amusing  himself 
at  some  merry  pastime  with  some  youths  of  his 
college,  when  he  suddenly  left  off  at  the  sight  of 
one  of  the  fellows.  "  Hush,  boys,"  said  he,  "  we 
must  be  quiet.  Here's  a  fool  coming." 


76  TABLE-TALK. 

I  must  tell  you  a  story  of  a  friend  of  mine, 
which  I  take  to  be  a  crowning  specimen  of  April- 
fool  making. 

Down  comes  this  father  of  a  family  one  April 
day  to  breakfast,  with  a  face  looking  at  once 
amused  and  confounded,  as  if  something  had  hap- 
pened to  him  both  pleasant  and  mortifying.  The 
mother  of  the  family  asks  the  reason,  and  all  his 
children's  eyes  are  turned  on  him.  He  looked  at 
first  as  if  he  did  not  like  to  speak  ;  but  on  being 
pressed  assumed  an  aspect  of  bold  acknowledg- 
ment, and  said,  "  Well,  my  dear,  you  know  I  am 
not  particular  on  April  days,  but  certainly  I  did 
not  think  that  Harriet  (one  of  the  servants)  would 
have  gone  so  far  as  this." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Why,  she  has  made  an  April  fool  of  me  ! ! 
I  was  coming  down  the  stairs,  when  she  requested 
me  to  have  a  care  of  a  broom  that  was  lying  at 
the  bottom  of  it.  There  was  no  broom,  and  she 
ran  away  laughing." 

"Well,"  cries  the  lady,  "  of  all  the  bold  girls 
I  ever  met  in  my  life,  that  Harriet  has  the  great- 
est effrontery." 

The  children  all  joined  in  the  astonishment. 
They  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  It  was  won- 
derful, shameful,  etc.  ;  but  they  could  not  help 
laughing,  and  the  roar  became  universal. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Harry  gravely,  "  and  you,  all 
of  you  merry  young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  have 


PRIVATE  WAR.  77 

the  pleasure  of  informing  you,  all  round,  and  at 
one  fell  swoop,  that  you  are  a  parcel  of  April 
fools." 

PRIVATE   WAK. 

In  the  times  when  duels  were  fought  with 
swords,  the  Dutch  had  a  pretty  custom  (perhaps 
have  it  still  in  sequestered  places,  where  virtue 
survives)  in  which  two  rustical  parties,  whenever 
they  happened  to  have  an  argument  over  their 
beer,  and  couldn't  otherwise  settle  it,  took  out  the 
knives  with  which  they  had  been  cutting  their 
bread  and  cheese,  and  went  to  it  like  gentlemen. 
It  was  called  snick-and-snee,  which  is  understood 
to  mean  catch  and  cut,  the  parties  catching  hold 
of  one  another  by  the  collar  or  waistcoat,  and  thus 
conveniently  sneeing  or  cutting  away,  as  butchers 
might  do  at  a  carcass.  A  similar  custom  is  re- 
lated of  the  Highlanders,  who,  whenever  they  sat 
down  together  to  dinner,  were  so  prepared  for  it 
that  in  case  of  accidents,  that  is  to  say,  of  argu- 
ments, they  stuck  their  dirks  into  the  board  be- 
side their  trenchers,  so  as  to  have  their  reasons 
ready  at  hand.  If  a  man  said,  "  You  grow  hot 
and  ridiculous,"  out  came  the  cold  steel  to  dis- 
prove his  words  ;  and  the  question  was  settled 
upon  the  most  logical  military  principles. 

Now,  if  private  and  public  virtue  are  identi- 
cal, as  moralists  insist  they  are,  in  contradiction 
to  the  casuists  of  expediency,  there  is  no  reason 


78  TABLE-TALK. 

why  the  disputes  of  individuals  should  not  be  set- 
tled like  those  of  nations,  in  the  good  old  Dutch 
and  Highland  manner.  But,  at  the  same  time,  as 
moralists  and  casuists  alike  agree  in  thinking  that 
the  more  the  system  of  war  can  be  humanized  the 
better,  I  can't  but  think  that  an  obvious  mode 
presents  itself  of  showing  the  resort  to  bloodshed 
in  its  best  and  most  reasonable  colors — a  light  at 
once  conclusive  and  considerate,  humane  yet  val- 
iant, elegant  in  the  accessories,  yet  as  no-nonsense 
and  John-Bull  like  as  the  perfection  of  reason  can 
desire.  War,  observe,  is  a  very  filthy  as  well  as 
melancholy  thing.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of 
that.  And,  therefore,  on  the  no-nonsense  princi- 
ple, the  fact  is  not  to  be  disguised.  People,  it  is 
true,  do  disguise  it ;  writers  of  dispatches  dis- 
guise it ;  even  Wellington  says  little  or  nothing 
about  it,  which  I  have  always  thought  the  only 
blot  on  the  character  and  candor  of  that  great 
man.  But  I  am  sure  that,  on  reflection,  and  con- 
sidering how  un-EnglisJi-like  such  insincerity  is, 
the  Duke  would  give  up  the  concealment  after 
his  usual  manly  fashion. 

My  plan  is  this  :  that  whenever  two  gentle- 
men, alive  to  the  merits  and  necessities  of  war, 
should  happen  to  have  a  dispute  over  their  wine, 
they  should  immediately  put  on  two  laced  hats, 
call  in  a  band  of  music  from  the  streets,  and  after 
hearing  a  little  of  it,  and  marching  up  and  down 
the  room  with  an  air  of  dignified  propriety,  fall  to 


PRIVATE  WAR.  79 

it  with  their  fists,  and  see  which  can  give  the  other 
the  most  logical  bloody  nose.  The  sight  of  blood 
adding  to  the  valor  of  the  combatants,  the  noses 
of  course  would  get  worse  and  worse,  and  the 
blows  heavier  and  heavier,  till  both  of  the  war- 
riors reasonably  became  "  sights,"  and  one  of  the 
two  at  last  fell  insensible — that  being  an  evil 
necessary  to  the  termination  of  the  argument. 
Meantime,  they  would  groan  considerably,  and 
complain  in  a  very  touching  manner  of  the  kicks 
and  cuffs  they  received  on  the  tenderest  parts  of 
their  bodies  (to  show  that  there  was  "no  non- 
sense ")  ;  a  great  dust  would  be  struck  up  from 
the  carpet ;  pools  of  blood  would  properly  over- 
flow it  (always  to  show  that  there  was  "  no  non- 
sense ")  ;  and  then,  when  the  fight  was  over,  and 
the  band  of  music  had  played  again,  and  the 
shrieks  in  the  drawing-room  and  kitchen  had  sub- 
sided into  those  tears  and  sobs  which  are  the  final 
evidences  of  a  state  of  logical  conviction,  the 
conqueror  (if  he  was  able),  or  his  friends  at  all 
events,  would  clear  their  throats  in  the  most  dig- 
nified manner,  strike  up  a  hymn,  and  thank  the 
Author  of  their  respective  vitalities  that  the  de- 
feated party  had  been  beaten  to  a  jelly,  to  the 
special  satisfaction  of  the  beater,  and  the  eternal 
honor  and  glory  of  the  Author  of  the  Universe. 

N.  B. — You  must  be  cautious  how  you  doubt 
whether  the  Author  of  the  Universe  takes  any 
particular  notice  of  the  bloody  noses,  or  whether 


80  TABLE-TALK. 

he  does  not  rather  leave  them  to  work  out  some 
different  third  purpose  by  themselves ;  because, 
in  that  case,  you  might  be  charged  with  wanting 
a  due  sense  of  his  dignity.  On  the  other  hand, 
you  must  not  at  all  imagine  that  he  approves  the 
bloody  noses  in  the  abstract  as  well  as  concrete  ; 
because,  in  that  case,  you  would  be  charged  with 
doubting  his  virtue.  And,  again,  you  are  not  to 
fancy  that  Heaven  wishes  to  put  an  end  to  the 
bloody  noses  altogether  ;  for  that  would  be  quite 
opposed  to  the  principle  of  "  no  nonsense." 

Your  business  is  to  preach  love  to  your  neigh- 
bor, to  kick  him  to  bits,  and  to  thank  God  for  the 
contradiction. 

BEAUMAKCHAIS. 

Beaumarchais,  author  of  the  celebrated  come- 
dy of  "  Figaro,"  an  abridgment  of  which  has  been 
rendered  more  celebrated  by  the  music  of  Mozart, 
made  a  large  fortune  by  supplying  the  American 
republicans  with  arms  and  ammunition,  and  lost 
it  by  speculations  in  salt  and  printing.  His  com- 
edy is  one  of  those  productions  which  are  account- 
ed dangerous,  from  developing  the  spirit  of  in- 
trigue and  gallantry  with  more  gayety  than  ob- 
jection ;  and  they  would  be  more  undeniably  so, 
if  the  good  humor  and  self-examination  to  which 
they  excite  did  not  suggest  a  spirit  of  charity  and 
inquiry  beyond  themselves. 


MOZART.  81 

MOZART. 

Mozart  is  wonderful  for  the  endless  variety 
and  undeviating  grace  of  his  invention.  Yet  his 
wife  said  of  him,  that  he  was  a  still  better  dancer 
than  musician  !  In  a  soul  so  full  of  harmony, 
kindness  toward  others  was  to  be  looked  for ;  and 
it  was  found.  When  a  child,  he  would  go  about 
asking  people  "  whether  they  loved  him."  When 
he  was  a  great  musician,  a  man  in  distress  accost- 
ed him  one  day  in  the  street  ;  and,  as  the  com- 
poser had  no  money  to  give  him,  he  bade  him 
wait  a  little,  while  he  went  into  a  coffee-house, 
where  he  wrote  a  beautiful  minuet  extempore, 
and,  sending  the  poor  man  with  it  to  the  music- 
seller's,  made  him  a  present  of  the  proceeds.  This 
is  the  way  that  great  musicians  are  made.  Their 
sensibility  is  their  genius. 

VIOLET—WITH  A  DIFFERENCE. 

"  Violet "  is  thought  a  suitable  name  for  the 
sweetest  heroines  of  romance,  on  account  of  its 
association  with  the  flower  ;  yet  add  but  a  letter 
to  it  and  that  not  a  harsh  one,  and  it  becomes 
the  most  unfeminine  of  characteristics — Violent. 

VERBAL  MISTAKES  OF  FOREIGNERS. 

The  Abbe  Georgel,  having  to  send  a  dinner- 
invitation  to  Hume  from  Prince  Louis  de  Rohan, 
6 


82  TABLE-TALK. 

took  the  opportunity  of  impressing  the  historian 
with  his  knowledge  of  the  English  language  in 
the  following  terms  : 

"  M.  VAbb'e  Georgel  fait  un  million  de  com- 
plimens  d  M.  Hume.  He  makes  great  account  of 
his  vorks,  admires  her  wit,  and  loves  her  person." 

If  ever  Hume  shook  his  fat  sides  with  laugh- 
ter, it  must  have  been  at  the  English  of  M.  PAbbe 
Georgel.  There  is  an  old  joke  on  the  coast  of 
France  about  an  English  lady,  who,  in  putting  up 
at  an  inn,  raised  a  great  confusion  in  the  minds 
of  the  attendants  by  showing  herself  very  partic- 
ular about  her  two  "  sailors  "  (matelote) ;  when  all 
that  she  meant  to  impress  was  her  nicety  respect- 
ing two  "  mattresses "  (matelas).  The  Italians 
have  similar  jokes  about  Englishmen  declining  to 
have  any  more  at  dinner,  because  they  have  eaten 
"  ships "  (the  term  for  which,  bastimento,  they 
mistake  for  abbastanza,  enough) ;  upon  which  an- 
other declines  too,  on  the  ground  that  he  had  eat- 
eif^"  the  anchor  "  (pronouncing  dncora  instead  of 
ancora,  also).  I  remember  an  English  lady  in 
Italy,  who  became  accomplished  in  the  language  ; 
but  at  the  outset  of  her  studies  it  was  said  of  her 
that  she  one  day  begged  a  coachman  not  to  drive 
so  fast,  by  the  title  of  "  spoon  "  :  "  Spoon,  spoon, 
pray  not  so  fast";  using  the  word  cucchiaio  in- 
stead of  cocchiere. 

The  effect  of  this  kind  of  mistake  being  in 
proportion  to  the  gravity  of  the  intention,  I  know 


HUME  AND   THE  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS.       83 

of  none  better  than  that  of  an  honest  German 
(the  late  Mr.  Stumpff,  the  harp-maker),  who  be- 
ing disgusted  at  some  trait  of  worldliness  which 
he  heard  related,  and  wishing  to  say  that  rather 
than  be  guilty  of  such  meanness  he  would  quit 
society  for  a  hermitage,  and  live  upon  acorns, 
exclaimed  with  great  animation,  "  Oh,  I  shall  go 
into  de  vilderness,  and  live  upon  unicorns" 

HUME  AND  THE  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

When  Hume  was  in  Paris,  receiving  the  hom- 
age of  the  philosophers  for  his  skepticism,  and 
of  the  courtiers  for  his  advocacy  of  Charles  I., 
three  little  boys  were  brought  before  him  to  make 
him  speeches.  They  complimented  him  after  the 
fashion  of  grown  persons,  said  how  impatiently 
they  had  expected  his  arrival,  and  expressed  their 
admiration  of  his  beautiful  history.  Alas  !  a  his- 
tory too  much  like  that  of  the  Stuarts  was  in  prep- 
aration for  them.  These  children  were  afterward 
the  unfortunate  Louis  XVI.,  and  his  brothers 
Louis  XVIII.  and  Charles  X. 

"  Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  Book  of  Fate, 
All  but  the  page  prescribed — their  present  state." 

If  the  poor  little  boys  could  have  read  in  that 
tremendous    volume,    their    compliments    might 
have  been  turned  in  something  of  this  fashion  : 
Little  Charles  JT. — Accept   the  compliments, 


84  TABLE-TALK. 

Mr.  Jacobite,  of  a  prince  whom  you  will  help  to 
send  into  exile. 

Little  Louis  XVIII. — And  of  one  whom  you 
will  help  to  bring  from  it,  only  to  let  him  die  of 
fat. 

Little  Louis  XVI. — And  of  another,  whose 
head  your  beautiful  history  will  help  to  cut  off. 

A  CHARMING  CREATURE. 

Shakespeare,  in  the  compass  of  a  line,  has  de- 
scribed a  thoroughly  charming  girl : 

"  Pretty,  and  witty ;  wild,  and  yet,  too,  gentle." 

BACOK 

If  I  were  asked  to  describe  Bacon  as  briefly 
as  I  could,  I  should  say  that  he  was  the  liberator 
of  the  hands  of  knowledge. 

SUICIDES  OF  BUTLERS. 

Tragedy  will  break  in  upon  one's  dinner-table 
in  spite  of  us.  Mr.  Wakley  tells  us  that  suicide 
is  rife  among  butlers !  The  news  is  startling  to 
people  at  dinner.  How  many  faces  must  have 
been  turned  on  butlers,  the  day  on  which  the 
coroner  made  the  remark  ;  and  how  uncomforta- 
ble some  of  them  must  have  felt !  The  teeto- 
talers will  not  overlook  it ;  for  the  cause  appears 
obvious  enough.  The  butler  is  always  sipping. 


DUELS.  85 

He  is  also  the  most  sedentary  of  domestics,  the 
housekeeper  excepted  ;  and  wine-merchants  accuse 
him  of  having  a  bad  conscience.  So  he  grows 
burly  and  uneasy ;  thinks  he  shall  never  retire 
into  an  inn  or  a  public  office  ;  loses  bits  of  his 
property  in  speculation  ;  and  when  the  antibilious 
pill  fails  him,  there  is  an  inquest. 

The  poor  butler  should  take  to  his  legs  instead 
of  his  arm-chair.  He  should  make  himself  easier 
in  his  mind,  considering  his  temptations  ;  and 
cultivate  an  interest  in  everything  out  of  doors, 
except  shares  in  railroads. 

DUELS. 

The  only  conjecture  to  be  made  as  to  the  pos- 
sible utility  of  duels  (on  the  assumption  that  the 
retention  of  any  prevailing  custom  must  have 
some  foundation  in  reason)  seems  to  be,  that  they 
serve  to  counteract  the  effeminate  tendencies  of 
sedentary  states  of  society,  and  admonish  us  of 
the  healthiness  and  necessity  of  courage. 

For  as  to  suffering  insolence  and  outrage,  the 
most  polished  nations  of  antiquity  had  no  duels, 
and  yet  never  appear  to  have  felt  the  want  of  them. 

But  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  by  their  wres- 
tling-grounds, and  military  training,  and  the  very 
nakedness  and  beauty  of  their  sculpture,  main- 
tained a  sense  of  the  desirableness  of  bodily  vigor. 

The  diffusion  of  knowledge,  however,  seems 


86  TABLE-TALK. 

to  be  conspiring  with  the  increased  activity  and 
practical  good  sense  of  the  age  to  discountenance 
dueling,  and  render  it  ridiculous  ;  and  as  the  oc- 
casions of  it  are  in  general  really  so,  while  the 
consequences  are  tragical  to  the  persons  con- 
cerned, it  is  to  be  hoped  that  every  brave  and 
considerate  man  will  do  what  he  can  to  assist  in 
proving  it  superfluous. 

Did  anybody  ever  write  a  serious  panegyric  on 
a  duel  ?  It  has  received  hundreds  of  banters,  and 
(consequences  apart)  has  a  natural  tendency  to 
the  burlesque.  Nay,  even  those  have  given  rise 
to  it  in  some  pensive  minds. 

About  thirty  years  ago,  there  was  a  famous 
duel  about  a  couple  of  dogs  between  a  Colonel 
Montgomery  and  a  Captain  Macnamara,  in  which 
the  former  was  killed.  The  colonel  or  the  captain 
would  not  "  call  his  dog  off,"  and  the  captain  or 
colonel  would  not  hinder  his  dog  from  going  on  ; 
and  so 

^  "Straight  they  called  for  swords  and  pistols," 

and  made  a  few  women  and  children  miserable. 

This  catastrophe  occasioned  a  printed  elegiac 
poem,  the  author  of  which,  who  was  quite  serious, 
concluded  it  with  a  burst  of  regret  in  the  follow- 
ing extraordinary  triplet  : 

"  If  two  fine  dogs  had  quarreled  not ! — Oh !  if 
Not  fell  Montgomery  through  false  honor's  tiff, 
Nor  Chalk-Farm  witnessed  of  two  heroes'  miff!  " 


LISTON.  87 

LISTON. 

Talking  of  paralysis  reminds  one  of  the  death 
of  Liston.  Poor  fellow  !  he  had  long  outlived 
the  active  portion  of  his  faculties,  and  used  to 
stand  at  his  window  by  Hyde  Park  Corner,  sadly 
gazing  at  the  tide  of  human  existence  which  was 
going  by,  and  which  he  had  once  helped  to  en- 
liven. 

Liston's  "  face  was  his  fortune."  He  was  an 
actor,  though  truly  comic  and  original,  yet  of  no 
great  variety  ;  and  often  got  credit  given  him  for 
more  humor  than  he  intended,  by  reason  of  that 
irresistible  compound  of  plainness  and  pretension, 
of  chubbiness  and  challenge,  of  born,  baggy,  de- 
sponding heaviness,  and  the  most  ineffable  airs 
and  graces,  which  seemed  at  once  to  sport  with 
and  be  superior  to  the  permission  which  it  gave 
itself  to  be  laughed  at.  When  Liston  expressed 
a  peremptory  opinion,  it  was  the  most  incredible 
thing  in  the  world,  it  was  so  refuted  by  some  ac- 
companying glance,  gesture,  or  posture  of  incom- 
petency.  When  he  smiled,  his  face  simmered  all 
over  with  a  fondness  of  self-complacency  amount- 
ing to  dotage.  Never  had  there  been  the  owning 
of  such  a  soft  impeachment. 

Liston  was  aware  of  his  plainness,  and  allowed 
himself  to  turn  it  to  account ;  but  not,  I  suspect, 
without  a  supposed  understanding  between  him 
and  the  audience  as  to  the  superiority  of  his  intel- 


88  TABLE-TALK. 

lectual  pretensions  ;  for,  like  many  comedians,  he 
was  a  grave  man  underneath  his  mirth,  thought 
himself  qualified  to  be  a  tragedian,  and  did,  in 
fact,  now  and  then  act  in  tragedy  for  his  benefit, 
with  a  lamentable  sort  of  respectability  that  dis- 
appointed the  laughers.  I  have  seen  him  act  in 
this  way  as  Octavian  in  "  The  Mountaineers," 

STEEPLE-CHASING. 

Steeple-chasing  is  to  proper  bold  riding  what 
foolhardiness  is  to  courage.  It  proves  nothing 
except  that  the  chaser  is  in  want  of  a  sensation, 
and  that  he  has  brains  not  so  much  worth  taking 
care  of  as  those  of  other  men. 

A.  But  is  it  not  better  than  stag-hunting  ? 

13.  For  the  stag,  certainly. 

A.  There  can  be  no  such  piteous  sight  at  a 
steeple-chase  as  may  be  seen  at  other  kinds  of 
hunting. 

_5.  How  can  you  be  sure  of  that  ?  I  am  afraid 
you  are  severer  upon  the  chasers  than  I  am. 

A.  Suppose,  as  the  poet  says, 

"  A  stag  comes  weeping  to  a  pool." 

R.  Good  ;  but  suppose 

u  A  wife  comes  weeping  to  a  fool." 

Suppose  Numskull  brought  home  on  a  shutter. 
Danger  for  danger's  sake  is  senseless.  Besides, 
the  horse  is  worth  something.  One  has  no  right 


TURKEYS.  89 

to  crash  and  mash  it  in  a  pit  on  the  other  side  of 
a  wall,  even  with  the  chance  of  being  retributively 
kicked  to  death  in  its  company.  Did  you  ever 
hear  this  patient  and  noble  creature,  the  horse, 
scream  for  anguish  ?  It  is  one  of  the  ghastliest 
and  most  terrific  of  sounds  ;  one  of  the  most  tre- 
mendous even  on  a  field  of  battle  ;  and  depend 
upon  it,  you  will  catch  no  old  soldier  risking  the 
chance  of  hearing  it.  If  you  do,  he  will  be  no 
Uncle  Toby,  nor  Major  Bath,  nor  the  "Iron 
Duke  "  himself ;  but  some  brazen-faced  simple- 
ton, with  no  more  brains  in  his  head  than  his 
helmet. 

TURKEYS. 

It  is  amusing  to  see  the  turkey  strutting  and 
gobbling  about  the  homestead.  He  looks  like  a 
burlesque  on  the  peacock.  Good  old  Admiral  S.  ! 
How  sorry  he  was  to  hear  the  simile  ;  and  what 
good  things  he  had  to  say  on  the  worth  of  turkeys 
in  general,  and  of  a  foreign  species  of  the  race  in 
particular.  But  is  it  not  true  ?  Look  at  the  ani- 
mal's attempt  to  get  up  a  sensation  with  his  "  tail," 
or  what  is  called  such.  Look  at  the  short-coming 
size  of  it,  the  uncouth  heaviness  of  his  body,  the 
somber  tawdriness  of  his  colors,  and,  above  all, 
that  ineffable  drawing  back  of  the  head  and  throat 
into  an  intensity  of  the  arrogant  and  self-satisfied  ! 
He  looks  like  a  corpulent  fop  in  a  paroxysm  of 
conceit.  John  Reeve  was  not  greater  in  the  char- 


90  TABLE-TALK. 

acter  of  Marmaduke  Magog  the  beadle,  when  he 
stamped  the  ground  in  a  rapture  of  pomp  and 
vanity.  Bubb  Dodington  might  have  looked  so 
when  he  first  put  on  his  peer's  robes,  and  practiced 
dignity  before  a  looking-glass.  The  name  of  Bubb 
is  very  turkey-like.  The  bird's  familiar  name  in 
Scotland,  admirably  expressive  of  its  appearance, 
is  Bubbly  Jock.  Goethe  says  that  Nature  has  a 
lurking  sense  of  comedy  in  her,  and  sometimes 
intends  to  be  jocose  ;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to 
imagine  it  when  one  considers  that  she  includes 
art,  and  comedy  itself,  and  is  the  inventress  of 
turkeys. 

The  turkey  is  a  native  of  America,  and  Frank- 
lin recommended  it  for  the  national  symbol ! 

BAGPIPES. 

An  air  played  on  the  bagpipes,  with  that  de- 
testable, monotonous  drone  of  theirs  for  the  bass, 
is  like  a  tune  tied  to  a  post. 

CAESAR  AND  BONAPARTE. 

To-morrow  (Sunday,  the  15th  of  the  month) 
is  the  famous  Ides  of  March,  the  day  of  the  death 
of  Csesar.  During  a  conversation  which  Napoleon 
had  with  the  German  poet  Wieland,  he  expressed 
his  surprise  at  the  "  great  blunder "  of  which 
Caesar  was  guilty;  and,  on  the  poet  intimating  by 
his  look  a  desire  to  know  what  the  blunder  was, 


PSEUDO-CHRISTIANITY.  91 

his  Majesty  said,  it  was  trusting  people  with  his 
life  whose  designs  against  it  he  was  aware  of. 
Wieland  thought  within  himself,  as  he  contem- 
plated the  imperial  countenance,  "  That  is  a  mis- 
take that  will  never  be  committed  by  you."  But 
see  how  dangerous  it  is  for  a  living  man  to  pro- 
nounce judgment  on  a  dead  one.  If  Napoleon 
would  never  have  committed  the  mistake  of 
Caesar,  the  accomplished  Roman  would  not  have 
fallen,  as  the  other  did,  for  want  of  knowing  the 
character  of  the  nations  with  whom  he  fought, 
and  the  chances  of  a  climate.  Now,  it  is  better  to 
perish  in  consequence  of  having  a  generous  faith 
than  a  self-satisfied  ignorance. 

PSEUDO-CHRISTIANITY. 

Some  religious  persons  the  other  day,  with  a 
view  to  the  promotion  of  "  Christian  union,"  had 
a  meeting  in  Birmingham,  at  which  they  are  said 
to  have  come  to  these  two  resolutions  :  First, 
that  it  is  "  everybody's  right  and  duty  to  exercise 
private  judgment  in  the  interpretation  of  the 
Scriptures  "  ;  and  second,  that  "  nobody  is  to  be- 
long to  their  society  who  does  not  hold  the  doc- 
trine of  the  divine  institution  of  the  Christian 
ministry,  and  the  authority  and  perpetuity  of  Bap- 
tism and  the  Lord's  Supper." 

This  is  the  way  Christianity  has  been  spoilt 
ever  since  dogma  interfered  with  it — ever  since 


92  TABLE-TALK. 

something  was  put  upon  it  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  in  order  that  people  might  dictate  to  their 
neighbors  instead  of  loving  them,  and  indulge 
their  pragmatical  egotism  at  the  very  moment 
when  they  pretend  to  leave  judgment  free  and  to 
promote  universal  brotherhood.  It  is  just  as  if 
some  devil  had  said  :  "  Christianity  shall  not  suc- 
ceed ;  people  shall  not  be  of  one  accord,  and  find 
out  what's  best  for  'em.  I'll  invent  dogma  ;  I'll 
invent  faith  versus  reason  ;  I'll  invent  the  Em- 
peror Constantine  ;  I'll  invent  councils,  popes,  po- 
lemics, Calvins  and  Bonners,  inquisitions,  auto- 
da-f  es,  massacres  ;  and  should  Christianity  survive 
and  outgrow  these,  I'll  invent  frights  about  them, 
and  whispers  in  their  favor,  and  little  private 
popes  of  all  sorts,  all  infallible,  all  fighting  with 
one  another,  all  armed  with  their  sine  qua  nons, 
for  the  purpose  of  beating  down  the  olive-branch, 
and  preventing  their  pretended  object  from  super- 
seding my  real  one." 

I-do  not  believe,  mind,  that  any  such  thing 
was  said,  or  that  this  chaos  of  contradiction  has 
been  aught  else  but  a  fermentation  of  good  and 
ill,  out  of  which  good  is  to  come  triumphant,  per- 
haps the  better  for  the  trial ;  for  evil  itself  is  but 
a  form  of  the  desire  of  good,  sometimes  a  neces- 
sity for  its  attainment.  But  the  seeming  need- 
lessness  of  so  much  evil,  or  for  so  long  a  period, 
is  provoking  to  one's  uncertainty  ;  and  the  sight 
of  such  a  heap  of  folly  is  a  trial  of  the  patience. 


DYED   HAIR.  93 

Our  patience  we  must  not  lose,  for  then  we  shall 
fall  into  the  error  we  deprecate  ;  but  let  us  keep 
reason  and  honest  ridicule  for  ever  on  the  watch. 

A.  But  they  say  that  ridicule  is  unfair. 

2$.  Yes  ;  and  make  use  of  it  whenever  they 
can.  In  like  manner  they  deprecate  reason,  and 
then  reason  in  favor  of  the  deprecation. 

DYED  HAIR. 

There  is  a  sly  rogue  of  a  fellow  advertising  in 
the  Dublin  papers,  who  is  very  eloquent  and  de- 
hortatory  on  the  subject  of  gray  hair.  He  says 
that  people,  when  they  begin  to  have  it,  decline 
"  in  respect  and  esteem  "  as  "  companionable  be- 
ings," particularly  with  the  fair  sex  ;  nay,  in  their 
own  eyes  ;  and  therefore  he  advises  them  to  lose 
no  time  in  availing  themselves  of  an  immense  dis- 
covery which  he  has  made,  in  the  shape  of  a  cer- 
tain "  coloring  material,"  which  turns  the  hair  in- 
stantly to  a  "  luxuriant  dark."  He  tells  them  that 
it  is  as  easy  in  the,  operation  as  combing,  preserves 
and  invigorates  as  well  as  beautifies,  will  not 
stain  the  most  delicate  linen,  is  useless  for  any 
other  purpose,  and  in  fine  will  not  cost  them  a 
farthing.  All  they  have  to  pay  is  "  two  pounds  " 
for  the  secret.  He  does  not  quit  his  theme  with- 
out repeating  his  caution  as  to  the  dreadful  con- 
sequences that  will  ensue  from  neglecting  his 
advice — that  "decided  change,"  as  he  calls  it, 


94  TABLE-TALK, 

"  which  a  gray  or  a  bald  head  is  sure  to  produce 
in  public,  private,  and  self-esteem." 

Every  gentleman,  not  quite  perfect  in  the  color 
of  his  hair,  must  start  at  this  advertisement,  "  like 
a  guilty  thing  surprised."  He  must  think  of  all 
the  friends,  particularly  female  ones,  in  whose 
eyes  he  might  or  ought  to  have  noticed  a  mani- 
fest decrease  of  his  acceptability  ;  must  begin  to 
reflect  how  painful  it  is  to  lose  caste  as  a  "  com- 
panionable being  "  ;  and  what  steps  he  ought  to 
take,  in  order  to  recover  his  threatened  standing 
in  public  and  private  estimation.  "Good  heav- 
en !  "  he  will  exclaim,  looking  in  the  glass,  "  and 
is  it  come  to  this  ?  I  see  it ;  I  feel  it.  Yes,  there 
is  a  '  decided  change ' ;  virtue  is  gone  out  of  me. 
Miss  Dickenson  looks  odd  ;  Lady  Charlotte  is  dig- 
nified ;  nobody  will  hold  me  in  any  further  re- 
gard ;  perhaps  I  shall  lose  my  office,  my  estate, 
my  universe.  I  am  a  lost,  middle-tinted  man." 

So  saying,  he  disburses  his  two  pounds  in  a 
frenzy,  realizes  the  wonderful  dark  hair  immedi- 
ately; and,  in  the  course  of  two  days,  what  is  the 
consequence  ?  I  remember  an  elderly  gentleman 
whose  sister  persuaded  him  to  adopt  one  of  these 
two-pound  secrets  that  cost  nothing.  All  he  had 
to  do  was  to  make  use  of  a  comb  dipped  in  the 
preparation,  and  the  fine  dark  color  undoubtedly 
resulted.  In  the  course  of  a  few  hours  it  changed 
to  a  beautiful  blue  ;  and  he  had  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty, for  days  after,  to  get  rid  of  it. 


EATING.  95 

EATIKG. 

Talk  of  indulgence  in  eating  as  you  may,  and 
avoid  excess  of  it  as  we  must,  it  is  not  a  little 
wonderful  to  consider  what  respect  Nature  enter- 
tains for  the  process,  and  how  doubly  strange  and 
monstrous  the  consideration  renders  the  wants  of 
the  half -starved.  It  throws  us  back  upon  thoughts 
more  amazing  still.  We  observe  that  the  vital 
principle  in  the  universe,  instead  of,  or  perhaps  in 
addition  to,  its  embodying  itself  in  the  shapes  of 
created  multitudes  throughout  the  apparently  un- 
inhabited portions  of  space,  tends  to  concentrate 
its  phenomena  into  distinct  dwelling-places,  or 
planets,  in  which  they  are  so  crowded  together 
(though  even  then  with  large  seeming  intervals) 
that  they  are  compelled  to  keep  down  the  pop- 
ulations of  one  another  by  mutual  devourment. 
Fortunately  (so  to  speak,  without  meaning  at  all 
to  assume  that  fortune  settles  the  matter),  this 
cruel-looking  tendency  is  accompanied  by  Nature's 
usual  beneficent  tendency  to  produce  a  greater 
amount  of  pleasure  than  pain  ;  for  the  duration 
of  the  act  of  dying,  or  of  being  killed,  is  in  no  in- 
stance comparable  with  that  of  the  state  of  being 
alive  ;  and  life,  upon  the  whole,  is  far  more  plea- 
surable than  painful  (otherwise  we  should  not  feel 
pain  so  impatiently  when  it  comes).  The  swallow 
snaps  up  the  fly  ;  the  fly  has  had  its  healthy  plea- 
sures ;  and  one  dish  entertains  at  a  time  many  hu- 


96  TABLE-TALK. 

man  feasters.  Now  think  of  the  enormous  multi- 
tude of  those  dishes — of  the  endless  varieties  of 
food  which  Nature  seems  to  have  taken  a  delight 
in  providing,  and  of  the  no  less  diversity  of  tastes 
and  relishes  with  which  she  has  recommended 
them  to  our  palates.  Take  the  list  of  eatables  for 
mankind  alone  (if  any  cook  could  make  one  out), 
and  think  of  its  endless  variety  of  fish,  flesh,  and 
fowl,  of  fruits,  and  vegetables,  and  minerals  ;  how 
many  domestic  animals  it  includes  ;  how  many 
wild  ones  ;  how  many  creatures  out  of  the  sea ; 
how  many  trees  and  shrubs ;  how  many  plants 
and  herbs  ;  how  many  lands,  oceans,  airs,  climates, 
countries,  besides  the  combinations  producible  out 
of  all  these  results  by  the  art  of  cookery  (for  art 
is  also  Nature's  doing)  ;  modifications  of  roast  and 
boiled  and  broiled,  of  pastries,  jellies,  creams,  con- 
fections, essences,  preserves.  One  would  fancy 
that  she  intended  us  to  do  nothing  but  eat ;  and, 
indeed,  a  late  philosopher  said  that  her  great  law 
was* "  Eat,  or  be  eaten."  The  philosopher  obeyed 
it  pretty  stoutly  himself  (it  was  Darwin),  and  he 
inculcated  it  (one  would  think  with  no  great  ne- 
cessity) on  his  patients  ;  some  of  whose  biliary 
vessels  must  have  contributed  to  pay  him  well  for 
the  advice. 

For  here  is  the  puzzle.  A  man  stands  equally 
astonished  at  the  multitiide  of  his  temptations  to 
eat,  at  the  penalty  of  the  indulgence,  and  at  the 
starvations  of  the  poor.  I  am  not  going  to  enter 


EATING.  97 

into  the  question,  or  to  endeavor  to  show  how  it 
may  be  reconciled  with  the  beneficence  of  Nature 
in  a  large  and  final  point  of  view,  the  only  point 
in  which  her  great  operations  can  be  regarded. 
What  I  meant  to  show  was  her  respect  for  this 
eating  law  of  hers,  and  the  astonishing  spirit  of 
profusion  in  which  she  has  poured  forth  materials 
for  its  exercise.  Why  we  are  not  all  individually 
rich  or  healthy  enough  to  do  it  justice  is  another 
question,  which  can  not,  indeed,  but  suggest  itself 
during  the  consideration.  Mr.  Malthus  (as  if  that 
mended  the  matter)  said  there  was  not  room 
enough  to  squeeze  in  at  the  table  between  himself 
and  his  bishop  !  Let  us  comfort  ourselves  (till 
the  question  is  settled)  by  reflecting  that  the  mor- 
tal portion  of  Mr.  Malthus,  and  of  the  bishop  too, 
have  gone  to  nourish  the  earth  which  is  to  support 
the  coming  generations.  "Fat  be  the  gander" 
(as  the  poet  says)  "that  feeds  on  their  grave." 

If  you  are  ever  at  a  loss  to  support  a  flagging 
conversation,  introduce  the  subject  of  eating.  Sir 
Robert  Walpole's  secret  for  unfailing  and  har- 
monious table-talk  was  gallantry;  but  this  will 
not  always  do,  especially  as  handled  by  the  jovial 
minister.  Even  scandal  will  not  be  welcome  to 
everybody.  But  who  doesn't  eat  ?  And  who  can 
not  speak  of  eating  ?  The  subject  brightens  the 
eyes  and  awakens  the  tender  recollections  of  every- 
body at  table — from  the  little  boy  with  his  beatific 
vision  of  dumpling,  up  to  the  most  venerable  per- 
7 


98  TABLE-TALK. 

son  present,  who  mumbles  his  grouse.  "  He  that 
will  not  mind  his  dinner,"  said  Johnson,  "will 
mind  nothing  "  (he  put  it  stronger ;  hut  honest 
words  become  vulgarized,  and  the  respectable  term 
"stomach"  won't  fit).  Ask  a  lady  if  she  is  at- 
tached to  the  worthiest  gentleman  in  the  room, 
and  she  will  reasonably  think  you  insult  her  ;  but 
ask  if  she  is  "fond  of  veal"  and  she  either  en- 
thusiastically assents,  or  expresses  a  sweet  and 
timid  doubt  on  the  subject — an  apologetical  in- 
ability to  accord  with  those  who  are.  She  "  can't 
say  she  is."  "Love"  was  formerly  the  word; 
perhaps  is  still. 

"  Do  you  love  pig  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  do  ;  but  I  dote  upon  eels.'> 

QUESTIONER  (looking  enchanted).  "Really! 
Well,  so  do  I." 

Dishes  are  bonds,  not  only  of  present,  but  of 
absent  unanimity.  I  remember  an  uxorious  old 
gentleman,  who  had  a  pretty  wife  that  he  was  rec- 
ommending one  day  to  the  good  graces  of  a  lady 
at  the  head  of  a  table.  His  wife  was  not  present ; 
but  he  had  been  expatiating  on  her  merits,  and 
saying  how  Mrs.  Scrivelsby  did  this  thing  and 
did  that,  and  what  a  charming,  elegant  woman 
she  was,  when  the  conversation  became  diverted 
to  other  topics,  and  the  lady's  accomplishments 
lost  sight  of.  The  gentleman's  hostess  happening 
to  speak  of  some  fish  at  table,  he  asked  if  she 
"  loved  the  roe "  ;  and  upon  her  owning  that 


POLAND  AND   KOSCIUSKO  99 

"soft  impeachment,"  and  being  helped  to  some, 
he  exclaimed,  in  the  fondest  tones,  with  a  face 
full  of  final  bliss,  and  radiant  with  the  thoughts 
of  the  two  sympathizing  women,  the  absent  and 
the  present — 

"  Do  you,  indeed  ?  Well,  now,  Mrs.  Scrivelsby 
loves  the  roe." 

N".  B. — If  anybody  sees  "nothing"  in  this 
story,  he  is  hereby  informed  that  he  has  made  a 
discovery  unawares ;  for  that  is  precisely  the 
value  of  it. 

POLAND  AND  KOSCIUSKO. 

The  claims  of  Poland  may  be  imperfect.  She 
was  once  badly  governed ;  there  is  no  doubt  of 
that ;  but  so  are  many  nations  who,  nevertheless, 
very  properly  decline  to  be  governed  by  others  ; 
and,  besides,  she  has  had  bitter  teaching,  and  pro- 
fesses to  have  learned  by  it.  Her  leaders  are  not 
so  confined,  as  they  are  supposed  to  be,  to  the 
aristocracy.  Kosciusko  himself  was  no  aristocrat 
—hardly,  indeed,  a  Pole  proper.  He  was  a  small 
gentleman  of  Lithuania  ;  but  he  loved  his  half- 
countrymen,  the  Poles ;  and  he  thought,  with 
Blake,  that  they  ought  not  to  be  "fooled  by 
foreigners." 

One  of  the  most  affecting  of  national  anec- 
dotes is  related  of  this  great  man  during  the  first 
occupation  of  France  by  the  Allies.  He  was  then 


100  TABLE-TALK. 

living  there,  but  siding  neither  with  the  Allies 
nor  with  Bonaparte.  He  never  did  side  with 
either.  He  knew  both  the  parties  too  well.  A 
Polish  troop  in  the  allied  service  came  foraging 
in  his  neighborhood,  and  they  took  liberties  with 
his  humble  garden.  The  owner  came  out  of  the 
house,  and  remonstrated  with  them  in  their  own 
language. 

"  Who  are  you,"  said  they,  exasperated,  "  that 
are  not  on  our  side,  and  yet  dare  to  speak  to  us  in 
this  manner  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Kosciusko." 

They  fell  at  his  feet,  and  worshiped  him. 

ENGLAND  AND  THE  POPE  (GREGORY). 

The  Pope,  instead  of  attending  to  the  welfare 
of  the  unfortunate  people  whom  he  governs,  and 
saving  his  country  from  the  reproach  of  being  the 
worst  governed  state  in  Europe,  is  putting  up 
praters  to  Heaven  for  the  conversion  of  England  ! 
He  might  as  well  come  to  London,  and  try  to  con- 
vert Mr.  Cobden  to  the  corn-laws,  or  the  railway 
companies  to  the  old  roads. 

About  eighty  years  ago,  a  Scotsman  went  to 
Rome  for  the  purpose  of  converting  the  Pope. 
The  Scotsman  was  not  content  with  praying.  He 
boldly  entered  St.  Peter's  at  high  mass,  and  ad- 
dressed his  Holiness  in  a  loud  voice,  by  the  title 
of  a  certain  lady  who  lives  not  a  hundred  miles 


TIIE  DUKE   OF    ttjlGfOVg   CONCERT.    101 

from  Babylon.  The  Pope,  who  at  that  time, 
luckily  for  the  Scotsman,  happened  to  be  a  kind 
and  sensible  man  (Ganganelli),  was  advised  to 
send  him  to  the  galleys  ;  but  he  answered  that 
the  galleys  were  but  a  sorry  place  to  teach  people 
"  good  breeding "  ;  so  he  put  the  honest  fanatic 
into  a  ship,  and  sent  him  home  again  to  Scotland. 

We,  in  England  here,  should  be  equally  civil 
to  the  Pope,  if  he  would  do  us  the  honor  of  a  visit ; 
and  he  might  take  Dr.  Pusey  away  with  him  if  he 
pleased,  together  with  a  score  or  two  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  constitute  converted  England. 

It  is  a  little  too  late  in  the  day  to  expect  Eng- 
lishmen to  pant  after  purgatory  and  confession  ; 
to  rejoice  in  the  damnation  of  their  fathers  and 
mothers  and  little  children  ;  or  even  to  wish  for 
the  celibacy  of  their  clergy.  Their  clergy  are 
accused  of  being  lively  enough  already  toward 
the  ladies.  What  would  they  be  if  they  had 
no  wives  ?  "  Gracious  heavens  !  "  Why,  in  the 
course  of  six  months  the  bench  of  bishops  would 
be  as  bad  as  cardinals. 

THE  DUKE   OF  WELLINGTON'S   CONCERT. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  has  been  directing  a 
concert  of  Ancient  Music.  It  is  curious  to  see  the 
music  he  selected  :  what  a  mixture  it  is  of  devo- 
tion, fighting,  and  gallantry  ;  how  he  abides  by 
the  favorites  of  his  youth  ;  and  how  pleasantly, 


102  TAlUJ^TAtfc... 

and  like  a  good  son,  he  includes  the  compositions 
of  his  father,  Lord  Mornington.  Conquerors  deal 
in  such  tremendous  (and  disputable)  wares,  that 
it  is  not  easy  to  determine  the  amount  of  their 
genius — to  distinguish  it  from  chances  and  conse- 
quences, or  to  say  how  much  of  it  is  not  owing  to 
negative  as  well  as  positive  qualities.  The  world 
are  hardly  in  a  condition  to  judge  a  man  who 
plays  at  chess  with  armies  ;  who  blows  us  up, 
takes  us  by  storm  and  massacre,  and  alters  the 
face  of  nations.  He  may  or  may  not  be  as  great 
as  we  suppose  ;  though  his  want  of  civil  talents 
is  generally  against  him,  and  he  often  perishes 
out  of  imprudence.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  a  great  soldier  is  a  very  striking  and  impor- 
tant person  of  some  kind  ;  and  to  catch  him  at 
these  soft,  harmonious,  and  filial  amusements  is 
interesting.  The  Duke's  concert  the  other  day 
was  in  good  old  taste,  not  omitting  some  of  the 
later  great  masters.  There  was  plenty  of  Handel 
in  it ;  some  Gluck  and  Paisiello,  Beethoven  and 
Mozart ;  Avison's  "  Sound  the  loud  timbrel "  ;  a 
glee  of  Webbe's  ;  another  by  his  Grace's  father, 
aforesaid  ;  and  the  fine  old  French  air,  "  Char- 
mante  Gabrielle,"  which,  an  arch  rogue  of  a  critic 
says,  was  sung  in  a  "  chaste  manner  "  by  Madame 
Caradori.  Not  that  the  chastity  is  to  be  doubted, 
or  that  the  air  was  not  one  of  recognized  propri- 
ety ;  but  it  is  worth  considering  how 

"  Nice  customs  curtsey  to  great  kings  " ; 


THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON'S  CONCERT.    103 


what  storms  of  honor  and  glory,  and  royal  and 
national  trumpets,  have  been  allowed  to  smuggle 
into  good  society  the  "  Charming  Gabrielle,"  mis- 
tress of  Henri  Quatre  ;  and  how  the  fair  singer 
would  have  been  scared  at  being  requested  to  do 
as  much  for  the  charming  Jane  Shore,  or  giddy 
Mrs.  Eleanor  Gwynn. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington's  was  a  right  sol- 
dier's concert,  a  little  overdone  perhaps  in  the 
church-going  quarter — a  little  too  much  on  the 
oratorio  side  ;  but  that  might  have  been  looked 
for  at  an  "Ancient  Concert,"  famous  for  mem- 
ories of  George  the  Third.  The  rest  was  given 
to  love  and  fighting — to  "  Gird  on  thy  Sword," 
and  "  Giving  them  Hailstones,"  and  "  Charming 
Gabrielle,"  and  the  ladies'  duet  in  Mozart,  "  Pren- 
derd  quel  brunettino  "  (I'll  take  that  little  brown 
fellow),  which  may  have  been  connected  with 
some  pleasing  reminiscences  of  country-quarters 
or  the  jungles  of  Hyderabad. 

But  the  paternal  glee,  after  all,  was  the  thing  ; 
the  filial  reminiscence  ;  the  determination  of  the 
great  "  iron  "  Duke  to  stand  by  his  little,  gentle, 
accomplished  father,  the  amateur  composer — and 
a  very  pretty  composer  too.  All  soldiers  can  go 
to  church  and  admire  charming  Gabrielles ;  but 
it  is  not  for  every  great  fame  thus  to  stand  by  a 
minor  one,  and  take  a  pride  in  showing  off  the 
father  on  whose  knee  it  sat  in  its  infancy. 

The  Duke  is  a  good  fellow,  depend  upon  it, 


104  TABLE-TALK. 

me  patre  judice.  He  may  give  odd  answers  to 
deputations,  and  be  "  curst  and  brief  "  to  auto- 
graph-seekers, and  not  know  how  to  talk  in  their 
own  language  to  his  warm-hearted  Irish  country- 
men. I  wish  he  did.  But  he  sticks  to  his  father. 
He  will  have  due  honor  paid  to  the  paternal 
crotchets. 

WAR,  DINNER,  AND  THAKKSGIVING. 

It  is  not  creditable  to  a  "thinking  people" 
that  the  two  things  thay  most  thank  God  for 
should  be  eating  and  fighting.  We  say  grace 
when  we  are  going  to  cut  up  lamb  and  chicken, 
and  when  we  have  stuffed  ourselves  with  both  to 
an  extent  that  an  orang-outang  would  be  ashamed 
of  ;  and  we  offer  up  our  best  praises  to  the  Crea- 
tor for  having  blown  and  sabered  his  "  images," 
our  fellow  creatures,  to  atoms,  and  drenched  them 
in  blood  and  dirt.  This  is  odd.  Strange  that  we 
should  keep  our  most  pious  transports  for  the 
lowest  of  our  appetites  and  the  most  melancholy 
of  our  necessities !  that  we  should  never  be 
wrought  up  into  paroxysms  of  holy  gratitude  but 
for  bubble  and  squeak,  or  a  good-sized  massacre  ! 
that  we  should  think  it  ridiculous  to  be  asked  to 
say  grace  for  a  concert  or  a  flower-show,  or  the 
sight  of  a  gallery  of  pictures,  or  any  other  of  the 
divinest  gifts  of  Heaven,  yet  hold  it  to  be  the 
most  natural  and  exalted  of  impulses  to  fall  on 
our  knees  for  having  kicked,  beaten,  torn,  shat- 


WAR,  DINNER,  AND  THANKSGIVING.         105 

tered,  drowned,  stifled,  exenterated,  mashed  and 
abolished  thousands  of  our  "  neighbors,"  whom 
we  are  directed  to  "  love  as  ourselves  "  ! 

A  correspondent  of  the  "  Times,"  who  had  of 
course  been  doing  his  duty  in  this  respect,  and 
thanking  Heaven  the  first  thing  every  morning 
for  the  carnage  in  the  Punjaub,  wished  the  other 
day  to  know  "  what  amount  of  victory  was  con- 
sidered, by  the  Church  or  State,  to  call  forth  a 
public  expression  of  thankfulness  to  Almighty 
God."  He  was  angry  that  the  Bishops  had  not 
been  up  and  stirring  at  the  slaughter  ;  that  Sir 
Robert  Peel  was  not  as  anxious  to  sing  hymns 
for  it  as  to  feed  the  poor  ;  that  Lord  John  Rus- 
sell, with  all  his  piety,  was  slower  to  call  for  re- 
joicings over  the  Sikh  widows  than  attention  to 
hapless  Ireland. 

The  pause  did  Government  honor.  The  omis- 
sion of  the  ceremony,  if  they  had  had  courage 
enough  to  pass  it  by  altogether,  would  have  done 
them  more.  Not  because  God  is  not  to  be  rever- 
enced in  storm  as  in  sunshine,  but  because  it  does 
not  become  any  section  of  his  creatures  to  trans- 
late these  puzzles  of  the  mystery  of  evil  in  their 
own  favor,  and,  with  the  presumptuous  vanity 
called  humility,  thank  Him,  like  the  Pharisee,  for 
not  being  conquered  like  "those"  Indians.  Our 
meddling  with  the  Punjaub  at  all  is  connected 
with  some  awkward  questions.  So  is  our  whole 
Indian  history.  I  believe  it  to  have  been  the  in- 


106  TABLE-TALK. 

evitable,  and  therefore,  in  a  large  and  final  point 
of  view,  the  justifiable  and  desirable  consequence 
of  that  part  of  the  "  right  of  might "  which  con- 
stitutes the  only  final  secret  of  the  phrase,  and 
which  arises  from  superior  knowledge  and  the 
healthy  power  of  advancement.  But  in  the  hu- 
mility becoming  such  doubtful  things  as  human 
conclusions,  it  behooves  us  not  to  play  the  fop  at 
every  step  ;  not  to  think  it  necessary  to  God's 
glory  or  satisfaction  to  give  Him  our  "  sweet 
voices,"  even  though  we  do  it  in  their  most  sneak- 
ing tones  ;  nor  to  thank  the  good  Father  for  hav- 
ing been  chosen  to  be  the  scourgers  of  our  weaker 
brethren. 

"Go,"  we  might  imagine  Him  saying;  "go, 
and  hold  your  tongues,  and  be  modest.  Don't 
afflict  me  during  the  necessity  with  your  stupid 
egotism.  Perhaps  I  chose  you  for  the  task,  only 
because  you  had  the  less  sensibility." 

FIRES  AND  MAKTYKDOM. 

Fires  are  still  happening  every  day,  notwith- 
standing the  tremendous  lessons  which  they  give 
to  the  incautious.  People  are  shocked  at  the 
moment,  and  say  that  something  must  be  done  ; 
but  in  the  course  of  four-and-twenty  hours  they 
forget  the  shrieking  females  at  the  windows,  and 
the  children  reduced  to  ashes  ;  and  the  calamities 
are  risked  as  before.  It  is  really  a  pity  that  Par- 


FIRES  ANb   MARTYRDOM.  107 

liament  does  not  interfere.  Officious  legislation 
is  bad  ;  but  if  the  public  are  children  in  this  re- 
spect, and  don't  know  how  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves, grown  understandings  ought  to  help  them. 
Parliament  can  ordain  matters  about  lamps  and 
pavements  ;  why  not  about  balconies  for  great 
houses,  and  corridors  at  the  back  of  smaller  ones  ? 
Are  health  and  convenience  of  more  importance 
than  being  saved  from  the  cruelest  of  deaths  ? 

Meantime,  what  an  opportunity  presents  itself 
to  Puseyites  and  others  for  a  little  indisputable 
Christianity — a  good  practical  restitution  of  their 
favorite  days  of  martyrdom  and  self-sacrifice.  It 
is  said  that  no  calamitous  chance  of  things  is  ever 
done  away  with  in  this  country,  unless  some  great 
man  happens  to  be  the  victim.  Now,  the  Pusey- 
ites are  accused  of  being  Christian  only  in  dis- 
putation, with  great  dislikes  of  foregoing  their 
comforts  and  snug  corners.  Here  is  an  occasion 
for  them  to  prove  their  brotherly  love — to  show 
how  their  gold  can  be  tried  in  the  fire.  Why  can 
not  Dr.  Pusey,  or  Mr.  Newman,  or  Mr.  Wells 
(who  admires  the  tapers  and  other  splendid  shows 
of  Popery)  be  a  shining  light  himself,  of  the 
most  unquestionable  order  ?  Why  not  take  some 
house  about  to  be  pulled  down  in  a  great  thor- 
oughfare, assemble  a  crowd  at  night-time,  set  fire 
to  the  goods  and  chattels  round  about  him  like  an 
Indian  widow,  step  forth  into  the  balcony  to  show 
us  how  easy  it  was  for  him  to  escape,  and  then,  in 


108  TABLE-TALK. 

spite  of  our  cries,  tears,  agonies,  and  imploring 
remonstrances  (the  more,  the  memorabler),  offer 
himself  up,  like  a  second  Polycarp,  on  the  altar 
of  human  good  ?  Invidious  people  say,  that  it  is 
no  very  difficult  thing  for  a  man  to  be  a  shining 
light  in  a  good  comfortable  pulpit,  between  break- 
fast and  dinner,  with  no  greater  heat  on  him  than 
that  of  his  self-complacency  ;  but  the  Ridleys 
and  Bradford  s  found  a  different  business  of  it  at 
the  stake  ;  and  here  is  an  opportunity  for  such  as 
sneer  at  those  Protestant  martyrs,  to  show  how 
they  can  be  martyrs  themselves  of  a  nobler  sort, 
and  of  the  most  undoubted  utility.  For  who 
could  forget  the  circumstance  ?  what  balconies 
and  corridors  would  not  start  forth  to  their  honor 
and  glorification  all  over  the  metropolis  ? 

But  perhaps  the  Bishop  of  London,  who  is 
jealous  of  his  prerogative,  might  choose  to  avail 
himself  of  the  opportunity.  Or  suppose  Bishop 
Philpotts  requested  it  of  him  as  a  favor.  What 
a  truly  reviving  spectacle,  in  these  days  of  Chris- 
tian declension,  to  see  the  two  bishops,  at  the  last 
moment,  affectionately  contesting  with  one  an- 
other the  honor  of  the  sacrifice,  and  trying  to 
thrust  his  brother  off  the  devoted  premises  ! 

EESPEOTABILITY. 

"  When  the  question  was  put  to  one  of  the 
witnesses  on  the  trial  of  Thurtell,  '  What  sort  of 


RESPECTABILIT  Y.  109 

a  person  was  Mr.  Weare  ? '  the  answer  was,  '  Mr. 
Weare  was  respectable.'  On  being  pressed  by  the 
examining  counsel  as  to  what  he  meant  by  re- 
spectability, the  definition  of  the  witness  was, 
that  *  he  kept  a  gig  ! ' 

"  A  person,"  says  the  "  York  Courant,"  on 
this  incident,  "  was  annoying  a  whole  company  in 
a  public  room,  and  one  of  them  reproving  him 
sharply  for  his  indecorum,  an  apologist  whispered  : 
'  Pray,  do  not  offend  the  gentleman  ;  I  assure  you 
he  is  a  respectable  man.  He  is  worth  two  hundred 
a  year  independent  property" 

There  is  no  getting  at  the  root  of  these  mat- 
ters, unless  we  come  to  etymology.  People  mean 
something  when  they  say  a  man  is  respectable  ; 
they  mean  something  different  from  despicable  or 
intolerable.  What  is  it  they  do  mean  ?  Why, 
they  mean  that  the  gentleman  is  worth  twice  look- 
ing at — he  is  respectable,  re-spectabilis  ;  that  is  to 
say,  literally,  one  who  is  to  be  looked  at  again. 
You  must  not  pass  him  as  though  he  were  a  com- 
mon man  ;  you  must  turn  round  and  observe  him 
well  ;  a  second  look  is  necessary  if  you  have  the 
least  respect  for  him  ;  if  you  have  more,  you  look 
at  him  again  and  again  ;  and  if  he  is  very  re- 
spectable indeed,  and  you  have  the  soul  of  a  foot- 
man, you  look  at  him  till  he  is  out  of  sight,  and 
turn  away  with  an  air  as  if  you  could  black  his 
shoes  for  him. 

But  what  is  "  respectable  "  ?    What  is  the  vir- 


110  TABLE-TALK. 

tue  that  makes  a  man  worth  twice  looking  at  ? 
We  have  intimated  it  in  what  has  been  said.  The 
,"  York  Courant "  has  told  us — he  keeps  a  gig. 
Gig  is  virtue.  A  buggy  announces  moral  worth. 
Curriculus  evehit  ad  deos. 

But  you  must  be  sure  that  he  does  keep  it. 
He  may  come  in  a  gig,  and  yet  the  gig  not  be  his 
own  ;  in  which  case  it  behooves  you  to  be  cau- 
tious. You  must  not  be  taken  in  by  appearances. 
He  may  look  like  a  gentleman  ;  he  may  be  decent- 
ly dressed ;  you  may  have  seen  him  perform  a 
charitable  action  ;  he  may  be  a  soldier  covered 
with  scars,  a  patriot,  a  poet,  a  great  philosopher  ; 
but  for  all  this,  beware  how  you  are  in  too  much 
haste  to  look  twice  at  him — the  gig  may  have  been 
borrowed. 

On  the  other  hand,  appearances  must  not  con- 
demn a  man.  A  fellow  (as  you  may  feel  inclined 
to  call  him)  drives  up  to  the  door  of  an  inn  ;  his 
face  (to  your  thinking)  is  equally  destitute  of  sense 
ancT^  goodness  ;  he  is  dressed  in  a  slang  manner, 
calls  for  his  twentieth  glass  of  gin,  has  flogged 
his  horse  till  it  is  raw,  and  condemns,  with  ener- 
getic impartiality,  the  eyes  of  all  present,  his 
horse's,  the  bystanders',  and  his  own.  Now,  be- 
fore you  pronounce  this  man  a  blackguard,  or 
think  him  rather  to  be  turned  away  from  with 
loathing  than  looked  at  twice  out  of  respect,  be- 
have you  as  impartially  as  he  :  take  the  ostler  aside, 
or  the  red-faced  fellow  whom  he  has  brought  in 


RESPECTABILITY.  Ill 

the  gig  with  him,  and  ask,  "  Is  the  gig  his  own  ?  " 
The  man,  for  aught  you  know,  may  reply  :  "  His 
own  ?  Lord  love  you,  he  has  a  mint  of  money. 
He  could  ride  in  his  coach  if  he  pleased.  He  has 
kept  a  gig  and  Moll  Fist  these  two  years."  Thus 
you  see,  without  knowing  it,  you  might  have 
loathed  a  respectable  man.  "He  keeps  his  gig." 

But  this  respectable  gentleman  not  only  keeps 
his  gig — he  might  keep  his  coach.  He  is  respect- 
able in  esse ;  in  posse  he  is  as  respectable  as  a 
sheriff  :  you  may  look  twice  at  him  ;  nay,  many 
times.  Let  us  see.  We  have  here  a  clew  to  the 
degrees  of  a  man's  respectability.  To  keep  a  gig 
is  to  be  simply  respectable  :  you  may  look  twice  at 
the  gig-man.  A  curricle,  having  two  horses,  and 
costing  more,  is,  of  course,  more  respectable  :  you 
may  look  at  the  possessor  of  a  curricle  at  least 
twice  and  a  half.  A  chariot  renders  him  fit  to  be 
regarded  over  and  over  again  ;  a  whole  carriage 
demands  that  you  should  many  times  turn  your 
neck  to  look  at  him  ;  if  you  learn  that  he  drives  a 
coach  and  four,  the  neck  may  go  backward  and 
forward  for  three  minutes  ;  and  if  the  gentleman 
abounds  in  coaches,  his  own  carriage  for  himself, 
and  another  for  his  wife,  together  with  gig,  bug- 
gy, and  dog-cart,  you  are  bound  to  stand  watch- 
ing him  all  the  way  up  Pall  Mall,  your  head  going 
like  a  fellow's  jaws  over  a  pan-pipe,  and  your  neck 
becoming  stiff  with  admiration. 

The  story  of  the  "  two  hundred  a  year  inde- 


112  TABLE-TALK. 

pendent  property  "  is  a  good  appendage  to  that  of 
the  gig-keeping  worthy.  The  possessor  of  this 
virtue  was  annoying  a  whole  company  in  a  public 
room,  and  one  of  them  reproving  him  for  his  in- 
decorum, somebody  whispered :  "  Do  not  offend 
the  gentleman  ;  he  is  a  respectable  man,  I  assure 
you.  He  is  worth  two  hundred  a  year  indepen- 
dent property."  The  meaning  of  this  is  :  "I  am  a 
slave,  and  believe  you  to  be  a  slave  :  think  what 
strutting  fellows  we  should  be  if  we  possessed  two 
hundred  a  year  ;  and  let  us  respect  ourselves  in 
the  person  of  this  bully." 

If  people  of  this  description  could  translate  the 
feelings  they  have  toward  the  rich,  such  is  the 
language  their  version  would  present  to  them, 
and  it  might  teach  them  something  which  they 
are  ignorant  of  at  present.  The  pretense  of  some 
of  them  is,  that  money  is  a  great  means  of  good 
as  well  as  evil,  and  that  of  course  they  should 
secure  the  good  and  avoid  the  evil.  But  this  is 
not  the  real  ground  of  their  zeal ;  otherwise  they 
would  be  zealous  in  behalf  of  health,  temperance, 
and  honesty,  good-humor,  fair  dealing,  generosity, 
sincerity,  public  virtue,  and  everything  else  that 
advances  the  good  of  mankind.  No  ;  it  is  the 
pure,  blind  love  of  power,  and  the  craving  of 
weakness  to  be  filled  with  it.  Allowance  should 
be  made  for  much  of  it,  as  it  is  the  natural  abuse 
in  a  country  where  the  most  obvious  power  is 
commercial ;  and  the  blindest  love  of  power,  af- 


USE  OF  WORD   "ANGEL,"  IN  LOVE-MAKING.   113 

ter  all  (let  them  be  told  this  secret  for  the  com- 
fort of  human  nature),  is  an  instinct  of  sympathy 
— is  founded  on  what  others  will  think  of  us,  and 
what  means  we  shall  find  in  our  hands  for  adding 
to  our  importance.  It  is  this  value  for  one  an- 
other's opinion  which  keeps  abuses  so  long  in 
existence  ;  but  it  is  in  the  same  corner  of  the 
human  heart,  now  that  reform  has  begun,  that 
the  salvation  of  the  world  will  be  found. 

USE  OF  THE  WORD  «  ANGEL,"  ETC.,  IN  LOVE- 
MAKING. 

Lady  Suffolk,  when  bantering  Lord  Peter- 
borough on  his  fondness  for  the  fine  terms  used 
in  love-making,  said  that  all  she  argued  for  was, 
that  as  these  expressions  had  been  in  all  ages  the 
favorite  words  of  fine  gentlemen,  who  would  per- 
suade themselves  and  others  that  they  are  in  love, 
those  who  really  are  in  love  should  discard  them, 
the  better  to  distinguish  themselves  from  impos- 
tors. But,  with  submission  to  her  ladyship,  a 
real  lover  may  take  them  up  again,  as  they  were 
first  taken  up,  because  with  him  the  language  is 
still  natural. 

ELOQUENCE  OF  OMISSION. 

A    late    gallant     Irishman,    who    sometimes 
amused  the  House  of  Common  and  alarmed  the 
Ministers    with    his    brusquerie    (Mr.    Montague 
8 


114  TABLE-TALK. 

Mathew,  I  believe),  set  an  ingenious  example  to 
those  who  are  at  once  forbidden  to  speak,  and 
yet  resolved  to  express  their  thoughts.  There 
was  a  debate  upon  the  treatment  of  Ireland,  and 
the  General,  having  been  called  to  order  for  taking 
unseasonable  notice  of  the  enormities  attributed 
to  Government,  spoke  to  the  following  effect : 
"  Oh,  very  well ;  I  shall  say  nothing  then  about 
the  murders — (Order,  order!) — I  shall  make  no 
mention  of  the  massacres — (Hear,  hear!  Order!) 
— Oh,  well ;  I  shall  sink  all  allusion  to  the  in- 
famous half -hangings — ( Order,  order!  Chair  !)  " 
This  Montague  Mathew  was  the  man  who, 
being  confounded  on  some  occasion  with  Mr. 
Mathew  Montague  (a  much  softer-spoken  gentle- 
man), said,  with  great  felicity,  that  people  might 
as  well  confound  "  a  chestnut  horse  with  a  horse- 
chestnut." 

^      GODS  OF  HOMER  AND  LUCRETIUS. 

Sir  William  Temple  says  that  he  "does  not 
know  why  the  account  given  by  Lucretius  of  the 
gods  should  be  thought  more  impious  than  that 
given  by  Homer,  who  makes  them  not  only  sub- 
ject to  all  the  weakest  passions,  but  perpetually 
busy  in  all  the  worst  or  meanest  actions  of  men." 
Perhaps  the  reason  is,  that  in  Homer  they  retain 
something  of  sympathy  with  others,  however  mis- 
directed or  perturbed  ;  whereas  the  gods  of  Lu- 


UMBRELLAS.  115 

cretius  are  a  set  of  selfish  bons-vivants,  living  by 
themselves  and  caring  for  nobody. 

AN  INVISIBLE  RELIC. 

Bruges  is  the  place  where  the  Catholics  pro- 
fessed to  have  in  their  keeping  the  famous  hau  de 
Saint  Joseph;  that  is  to  say,  one  of  the  hoPs 
which  St.  Joseph  used  to  utter  when  in  the  act  of 
cleaving  wood  as  a  carpenter.  The  reader  may 
think  this  a  Protestant  invention ;  but  the  story 
is  true.  Bayle  mentions  the  ho  in  his  Dictionary. 

A  NATURAL  MISTAKE. 

A  little  girl  seeing  it  written  over  inn  doors, 
"  Good  stabling  and  an  ordinary  on  Sundays," 
thought  that  the  stabling  was  good  on  week-days 
but  only  ordinary  on  the  Sabbath. 

MORTAL  GOOD  EFFECTS  OF  MATRIMONY. 

A  lady  meeting  a  girl  who  had  lately  left  her 
service,  inquired,  "  Well,  Mary  !  where  do  you  live 
now  ?  "  "  Please  ma'am,"  answered  the  girl,  "  I 
don't  live  now — I'm  married." 

UMBRELLAS. 

From  passages  in  the  celebrated  verses  of 
Swift  on  a  "Shower,"  which  appeared  in  1770, 
and  in  Gay's  poem  of  "  Trivia,  or  the  Art  of  walk- 


116  TABLE-TALK. 

ing  the  Streets,"  which  was  written  a  year  or  two 
afterward,  it  would  seem  that  the  use  of  umbrel- 
las at  that  time  was  confined  to  females,  and  those 
too  of  the  poorer  classes.  The  ladies  either  rode 
in  their  carriages  through  the  rain,  or  were  obliged 
to  fly  from  it  into  shops. 

"Now  in  contiguous  drops  the  flood  comes  down, 
Threatening  with  deluge  this  devoted  town. 
To  shops  in  crowds  the  draggled  females  fly, 
Pretend  to  cheapen  goods,  but  nothing  buy. 
The  Templar  spruce,  while  every  spout's  abroach, 
Stays  till  'tis  fair,  yet  seems  to  call  a  coach. 
The  tucked-up  seamstress  walks  with  hasty  strides, 
While  streams  run  down  her  oiled  umbrella's  sides." 

There  is  no  mention  of  an  umbrella  for  men. 
The  men  got  under  a  shed,  like  the  Templar,  into 
a  coach,  or  into  a  sedan. 

"  Here  various  kinds,  by  various  fortunes  led, 
Commence  acquaintance  underneath  a  shed ; 

^Triumphant  Tories  and  desponding  "Whigs 
frorget  their  feuds,  and  join  to  save  their  wigs. 
Boxed  in  a  chair,  the  beau  impatient  sits, 
While  spouts  run  clattering  o'er  the  roof  by  fits ; 
And  ever  and  anon,  with  frightful  din, 
The  leather  sounds :  he  trembles  from  within. 
So  when  Troy-chairmen  bore  the  wooden  steed, 
Pregnant  with  Greeks,  impatient  to  be  freed 
(Those  bully  Greeks,  who,  as  the  moderns  do, 
Instead  of  paying  chairmen,  run  them  through), 
Laocoon  struck  the  outside  with  his  spear, 
And  each  imprisoned  hero  quaked  for  fear." 


BOOKSELLERS'   DEVICES.  117 

In  Gay's  poem,  the  men  are  advised,  in  case 
the  weather  threatens  rain,  to  put  on  their  surtouts 
and  worst  wigs.  The  footman,  he  says,  lets  down 
the  flat  of  his  hat.  Even  among  the  females,  the 
use  of  the  umbrella  appears  to  have  been  confined 
to  winter-time  : 

"  Good  housewives  all  the  winter's  rage  despise, 
Defended  by  the  riding-hood's  disguise  ; 
Or,  underneath  the  umbrella's  oily  shed, 
Safe  through  the  wet,  on  chinking  pattens  tread. 
Let  Persian  dames  th'  umbrella's  ribs  display, 
To  guard  their  beauties  from  the  sunny  ray ; 
Or  sweating  slaves  support  the  shady  load, 
"When  Eastern  monarchs  show  their  state  abroad : 
Britain  in  winter  only  knows  its  aid, 
To  guard  from  chilly  show'rs  the  walking  maid." 

When  Jonas  Hanway  made  his  appearance 
with  an  umbrella,  the  vulgar  hooted  him  for  his 
effeminacy. 

Umbrellas,  it  is  observable,  are  always  men- 
tioned as  being  oiled.  I  think  I  remember  the 
introduction  of  silken  ones. 

BOOKSELLERS'  DEVICES. 

Mr.  Pickering,  with  no  unpleasing  pedantry, 
gives  his  edition  of  the  Poets  the  epithet  of  "  Al- 
dine."  Aldus  was  the  great  elegant  publisher  of 
his  day,  and  Mr.  Pickering  is  ambitious  of  being 
thought  his  follower.  He  adopts  his  device  in 


118  TABLE-TALK. 

the  title-page,  with  a  motto  calculated  to  mystify 
the  unlearned — "  Aldi  Discipulus  Anglus  "  ;  to 
wit,  Aldus's  English  Disciple.  This  is  good,  be- 
cause anything  is  good  that  has  faith  in  books  or 
elegance  of  choice  ;  but,  inasmuch  as  originality 
is  a  good  addition  to  it,  a  device  of  Mr.  Picker- 
ing's own  would  have  been  better.  Aldus's  .dol- 
phin is  very  well  done,  but  it  is  somewhat  heavy. 
Mr.  Taylor,  the  printer,  a  man  of  liberal  knowl- 
edge, has  a  device  of  his  own — a  hand  pouring 
oil  into  the  midnight  lamp  ;  and  the  late  Mr. 
Yalpy  had  another,  not  so  good,  a  digamma  (the 
Greek  F),  which  looked  like  an  improvement  upon 
a  gallows.  It  seemed  as  if  it  was  intended  to 
hang  two  commentators  instead  of  one  ;  or  the 
parson,  with  his  clerk  underneath  him. 

WOMEN"  ON  THE  EIGHT  SIDE. 

Dr.  A.  Hunter  said  that  women  who  love  their 
husbands  generally  lie  on  their  right  side.  What 
did  he  mean  by  "  generally  "  ?  Women  who  love 
their  husbands  always  lie  on  the  right  side,  for 
an  obvious  reason — to  wit,  that  they  can  not  lie 
on  the  wrong  one. 

SHENSTONE  MISTAKEN. 

It  is  strange  that  Shenstone  should  have  thought 
his  name  liable  to  no  pun.  A  man  might  have 
convinced  him  to  the  contrary,  after  the  fashion 


THE   MARSEILLES  HYMN.  119 

in  which  Johnson  proposed  to  help  f  orgetf  ulness. 
"  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor  to  somebody  who  was  com- 
plaining of  short  memory,  "let  me  give  you  a 
kick  on  the  shin,  and  I'll  be  bound  you'll  never 
forget  it."  So  a  man  might  have  thrown  a  stone 
at  Shenstone's  leg  and  said,  "  There,  Mr.  Shin- 
stone  "  ;  for,  as  to  the  i  and  the  e,  no  punster 
stands  upon  ceremony  with  a  vowel. 

THE  MAESEILLES  HYMK 

The  "Marseilles  Hymn,"  though  not  in  the 
very  highest  class  of  art,  in  which  pure  feeling 
supersedes  the  necessity  of  all  literal  expression, 
is  nevertheless  one  of  those  genuine  compositions, 
warm  from  the  heart  of  a  man  of  genius,  which 
are  qualified  to  please  the  highest  of  the  scien- 
tific, and  those  who  know  nothing  of  music  but 
by  the  effect  it  has  upon  them.  The  rise  upon 
the  word  Patrie  (or,  as  the  English  translator 
has  very  well  made  it  fall,  upon  the  word  Glory) 
is  a  most  elevating  note  of  preparation  ;  this  no 
sooner  rouses  us  to  war,  than  we  are  reminded  of 
the  affecting  necessity  for  it  in  the  threats  of  the 
tyrants,  followed  by  that  touching  passage  re- 
specting the  tears  and  cries  of  our  kindred  ;  and 
then  comes  another  exalting  note — the  call  to 
arms.  The  beating  of  the  drum  succeeds.  We 
fancy  the  hurried  muster  of  the  patriots ;  their 
arms  are  lifted,  their  swords  unsheathed  ;  and 


120  TABLE-TALK. 

then  comes  the  march — a  truly  grand  movement 
— which  even  on  the  piano-forte  suggests  the  full- 
ness of  a  band.  In  the  pathetic  part,  the  E  flat 
on  the  word  fils  and  the  whole  strain  on  that  pas- 
sage are  particularly  affecting.  The  tears  seem 
to  come  into  the  eyes  of  the  heroes,  as  no  doubt 
they  have  into  thousands  of  them,  and  into  thou- 
sands of  those  that  have  heard  the  song.  But  it 
must  be  played  well,  and  not  be  judged  of  by  the 
performance  of  a  new  or  a  feeble  hand. 

I  know  not  who  the  author  of  the  translation, 
or  rather  imitation,  is,  but  he  has  done  it  very 
well. 

NON-SEQUITUR. 

There  is  a  punning  epigram  by  Dr.  Donne 
which  is  false  in  its  conclusion  : 

"  ( I  am  unable,7  yonder  beggar  cries, 
*  To  stand  or  go.'    If  he  says  true,  he  lies." 

No  p^ecause  he  may  lean,  or  be  held  up. 


NON-RHYMES. 

It  is  curious  that  in  so  correct  a  writer  as 
Pope,  and  in  so  complete  a  poem  as  the  "  Rape 
of  the  Lock,"  there  should  be  two  instances  of 
rhyme  which  are  none  at  all : 

"But  this  bold  Lord,  with  manly  strength  en 
She  with  one  finger  and  a  thumb  subdued" 


STOTHARD.  121 

"The  doubtful  beam  long  nods  from  side  to  side; 
At  length  the  wits  mount  up,  the  hairs  subside." 

They  are  both  in  the  fifth  canto.     There  is  an- 
other in  the  "  Essay  on  Criticism  "  : 

"  Unfinished  things  one  knows  not  what  to  call, 
Their  generation's  so  equivocal." 


STOTHARD. 

The  death  of  Stothard  grieved  all  the  lovers 
of  art,  though  it  had  been  long  expected.  They 
regretted  to  think  that  they  could  have  no  "  more 
last  words  "  from  his  genius — no  more  of  those 
sweet  and  graceful  creations  of  youth,  beauty, 
and  womanhood,  which  never  ceased  to  flow  from 
his  pencil,  and  which  made  his  kindly  nature  the 
abode  of  a  youthful  spirit  to  the  last.  An  angel 
dwelt  in  that  tottering  house,  amid  the  wintery 
bowers  of  white  locks,  warming  it  to  the  last  with 
summer  fancies. 

Stothard  had  the  soul  in  him  of  a  genuine 
painter.  He  was  a  designer,  a  colorist,  a  group- 
er ;  and,  above  all,  he  had  expression.  All  that 
he  wanted  was  a  better  education,  for  he  was 
never  quite  sure  of  his  drawing.  The  want  was 
a  great  one  ;  but,  if  those  who  most  loudly  ob- 
jected to  it  had  had  a  tenth  part  of  his  command 
over  the  human  figure,  or  even  of  his  knowledge 
of  it  (for  the  purposes  of  expression),  they  would 


122  TABLE-TALK. 

have  had  ten  times  the  right  to  venture  upon  criti- 
cising him  ;  and,  having  that,  they  would  have 
spoken  of  him  with  reverence.  His  class  was  not 
of  the  highest  order,  and  yet  it  bordered  upon  the 
gentler  portion  of  it,  and  partook  of  that  portion  ; 
for,  since  the  days  of  the  great  Italian  painters, 
no  man  felt  or  expressed  the  graces  of  innocence 
and  womanhood  as  he  did.  And  his  coloring 
(which  was  little  known)  had  the  true  relish, 
such  as  it  was.  He  loved  it,  and  did  not  color 
for  effect  only.  He  had  a  bit  of  Rubens  in  him, 
and  a  bit  of  Raphael — and  both  of  them  genuine  ; 
not  because  he  purposely  imitated  them,  but  be- 
cause the  seeds  of  gorgeousness  and  of  grace  were 
in  his  own  mind.  The  glowing  and  sweet  painter 
was  made  out  of  the  loving  and  good-natured 
man.  This  is  the  only  process.  The  artist,  let 
him  be  of  what  sort  he  may,  is  only  the  man  re- 
flected on  canvas.  The  good  qualities  and  defects 
of  his  nature  are  there  ;  and  there  they  will  be, 
let  him  deny  or  disguise  them  as  he  can.  In 
youth,  Stothard  was  probably  too  full  of  enjoy- 
ment, and  had  too  little  energy,  to  study  proper- 
ly. In  the  greater  masters,  enjoyment  and  energy, 
sensibility  and  strength  of  purpose,  went  together. 
Inferiority  was  the  consequence  ;  but  inferiority 
only  to  them.  The  genius  was  indestructible. 

Stothard,  for  many  years,  was  lost  sight  of  by 
the  public,  owing  to  the  more  conventional  ele- 
gances of  some  clever  but  inferior  men,  and  the 


STOTHARD.  123 

dullness  of  public  taste  ;  but  it  was  curious  to  see 
how  he  was  welcomed  back  as  the  taste  grew  bet- 
ter, and  people  began  to  see  with  the  eyes  of  his 
early  patrons.  The  variety,  as  well  as  grace,  of 
his  productions  soon  put  him  at  the  head  of  de- 
signers for  books,  and  there  he  remained.  What 
he  did  for  the  poems  of  Mr.  Rogers  is  well  known, 
and  his  picture  of  the  Canterbury  Pilgrims  still 
better,  though  it  was  not  one  of  his  best.  Many 
of  his  early  designs  for  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  and 
other  works,  especially  those  in  the  old  "  Novelist's 
Magazine,"  far  surpass  it ;  and  so  do  others  in 
Bell's  "British  Poets."  There  is  a  female  figure 
bending  toward  an  angel,  in  one  of  the  volumes 
of  Chaucer  in  that  edition,  which  Raphael  himself 
might  have  put  in  his  portfolio  ;  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  larger  designs  for  editions  of  Mil- 
ton and  Shakespeare.  See,  in  particular,  those 
from  "  Comus,"  and  for  the  "  Two  Gentlemen  of 
Verona,"  where  there  is  a  girl  in  boy's  clothes. 
Nothing  can  be  more  true  or  exquisite  than  the 
little  doubtful  gesture  of  fear  and  modesty  in  the 
latter  figure,  blushing  at  the  chance  of  detection. 
Stothard  excelled  in  catching  these  fugitive  expres- 
sions of  feeling — one  of  the  rarest  of  all  beauties. 
But  he  has  left  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  of 
designs — rich  treasures  for  the  collector  and  the 
student.  He  is  one  of  the  few  English  artists 
esteemed  on  the  Continent,  where  his  productions 
are  bought  up  like  those  of  his  friend  Flaxman, 


124  TABLE-TALK. 

who  may  be  reckoned  among  his  imitators ;  for 
Stothard's  genius  was  richer  than  his,  and  in- 
cluded it. 


THE   COUNTENANCE  AFTER  DEATH. 

A  corpse  seems  as  if  it  suddenly  knew  every- 
thing, and  was  profoundly  at  peace  in  conse- 
quence. 

HUME. 

Hume,  the  most  unphilosophic  (in  some  re- 
spects) of  all  philosophic  historians,  and  a  bigoted 
enemy  of  bigotry  (that  is  to  say,  unable  to  give 
candid  accounts  of  those  whom  he  differed  with 
on  certain  points),  was  a  good-natured,  easy  man 
in  personal  intercourse,  dispassionate,  not  ungen- 
erous, and  could  do  people  kind  and  considerate 
services.  Out  of  the  pale  of  sentiment,  and  of 
what  may  be  called  the  providential  and  possible, 
he  was  an  unanswerable,  or  at  least  an  unanswered 
dialectician  ;  but  there  was  a  whole  world  in  that 
region  into  which  he  had  no  insight ;  and  for 
want  of  it  he  was  not  qualified  to  pronounce 
finally  on  matters  of  faith  and  religion. 

GIBBON. 

Gibbon  was  a  skeptic,  in  some  respects,  of  a 
similar  kind  with  Hume,  and  more  immersed  in 
the  senses.  I  say  "more,"  because  both  these 


ANGELS  AND  FLOWERS.  125 

anti-spiritual  philosophers  were  fat,  double-chinned 
men.  Perhaps  Gibbon's  life  was  altogether  a  lit- 
tle too  selfish,  and  lapped  up  in  cotton.  He  lum- 
bered from  his  bed  to  his  board,  and  back  again, 
with  his  books  in  the  intervals,  or  rather  divided 
his  time  between  the  three,  in  a  sort  of  swinish- 
ness of  scholarship.  Martyrdom  and  he  were  at 
a  pretty  distance  !  He  was  not  a  man  to  die  of 
public  spirit,  or  to  comprehend  very  well  those 
who  did.  But  his  skepticism  tended  to  promote 
toleration.  He  was  an  admirable  Latin  scholar,  a 
punctilious  historian,  an  interesting  writer  in  spite 
of  a  bad  style  ;  and  his  faults,  of  every  kind,  ap- 
pear to  have  been  owing  to  temperament  and  dis- 
ease, and  to  his  having  been  an  indulged  infant, 
and  heir  to  an  easy  fortune.  Let  us  be  thankful 
we  got  so  much  out  of  him,  and  that  so  diseased 
a  body  got  so  much  out  of  life.  A  writer's  in- 
firmities are  sometimes  a  reader's  gain.  If  Gib- 
bon had  not  disliked  so  much  to  go  out  of  doors, 
we  might  not  have  had  the  "  Decline  and  Fall." 

ANGELS  AND  FLOWERS. 

It  might  be  fancied  that  the  younger  portion 
of  angels — the  childhood  of  heaven — had  had  a 
part  assigned  them  in  the  creation  of  the  world, 
and  that  they  made  the  flowers. 

Linnaeus,  however,  would  have  differed  on  this 
point. 


126  TABLE-TALK. 

AN  ENVIABLE  DISTRESS. 

Mr.  Rogers,  according  to  the  newspapers,  has 
been  robbed  of  plate  by  his  footman  to  the  amount 
of  two  thousand  pounds.  What  a  beautiful  ca- 
lamity for  a  poet !  to  be  able  to  lose  two  thou- 
sand pounds ! 

SIR  THOMAS  DYOT. 

The  street  lately  called  Dyot  Street,  in  St. 
Giles's,  is  now  christened  (in  defiance,  we  believe, 
of  a  legal  proviso  to  the  contrary)  George  Street. 
It  is  understood  that  Sir  Thomas  Dyot,  an  admi- 
rable good  fellow  in  the  reign  of  the  Stuarts,  left 
his  property  in  this  street  for  the  use  and  resort 
of  the  houseless  poor  who  "  had  not  where  to  lay 
their  heads,"  upon  condition  of  its  retaining  his 
name  ;  and  how  the  parish  authorities  came  to 
have  a  right  to  alter  the  name  his  admirers  would 
likerto  know. 

It  is  a  singular  instance  of  the  effect  of  circum- 
stances in  human  affairs,  that  a  name  so  excellent, 
and  worthy  to  be  had  in  remembrance,  should  be- 
come infamous  in  connection  with  this  very  street ; 
and  perhaps  the  authorities  might  undertake  to 
vindicate  themselves  on  that  score,  and  ask  wheth- 
er Sir  Thomas  could  have  calculated  upon  such  a 
vicissitude  ?  But  I  say  he  could,  and  very  likely 
did ;  for  he  knew  of  what  sort  of  people  the 
houseless  poor  were  likely  to  be  composed  ;  and 


AN 


ANCIENT  AND   MODERN   EXAMPLE.          127 

he  was  prepared,  like  a  thorough-going  friend,  to 
take  all  chances  with  them,  and  trust  to  more 
reflecting  times  to  do  justice  both  to  him  and  to 
them. 

Or,  if  he  did  not  think  of  all  this,  his  instinct 
did  ;  or,  at  all  events,  it  did  not  care  for  anything 
but  playing  the  kind  and  manly  part,  and  letting 
a  wise  Providence  do  the  rest.  Sir  Thomas  was 
a  right  hearty  good  fellow,  whoever  he  was  ;  for 
nothing  else,  I  believe,  is  known  of  him  ; — a  little 
wild,  perhaps,  in  his  youth  ;  otherwise  he  might 
not  have  become  acquainted  with  the  wants  of 
such  people  ;  but  ever,  be  sure,  honest  to  the 
backbone,  and  a  right  gentleman — fit  companion 
for  the  Dorsets  and  Cowleys  in  their  old  age,  not 
for  the  Charles  the  Seconds.  Here's  a  libation  to 
him  in  this  dip  of  ink — in  default  of  a  bumper  of 
Burgundy. 

ANCIENT  AND  MODERN  EXAMPLE. 

One  has  little  sympathy  after  all  with  the 
virtues  or  failings  of  illustrious  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans. One  fancies  that  it  was  their  business  to 
be  heroical,  and  to  furnish  examples  for  school- 
themes — owing,  perhaps,  to  the  formality  and 
tiresomeness  of  those  themes.  We  leave  then 
the  practice  and  glory  of  their  virtues  as  things 
ancient  and  foreign  to  us,  like  their  garments,  or 
fit  only  to  be  immortalized  in  stone — petrifactions 
of  ambitious  ethics,  not  flesh  and  blood,  or  next- 


128  TABLE-TALK. 

door  neighbors ;  stars  for  the  sky,  not  things  of 
household  warmth  -and  comfort ;  not  feasible 
virtues — or,  if  feasible,  rendered  alien  somehow 
by  distance  and  strangeness,  and  perhaps  accom- 
panied by  vices  which  we  are  hardly  sorry  to 
meet  with,  and  which  our  envy  (and  something 
better)  converts  into  reconcilements  of  their  vir- 
tue ;  as  when  we  hear,  for  example,  that  old  Cato 
drank,  or  that  Phocion  said  an  arrogant  thing  on 
"the  hustings,"  or  that  Numa  (as  a  Frenchman 
would  say)  visited  a  pretty  girl  "  of  afternoons  " 
— Ma'amselle  Egerie — who,  he  pretended,  was  a 
goddess  and  an  oracle,  and  gave  him  thoughts  on 
legislation.  So,  of  the  professed  men  of  pleasure 
in  the  ancient  world — or  indeed  of  professed  men 
of  pleasure  at  any  time  (for  their  science  makes 
them  remote  and  peculiar,  a  sort  of  body  apart,  ex- 
cessively Free  Masons) — one  doesn't  think  one's 
self  bound  to  resemble  them.  Their  example  is 
not  ^pernicious,  much  less  of  any  use  for  the  at- 
tainment of  actual  pleasure.  "Who  thinks  of  imi- 
tating the  vices  of  Caesar  or  Alexander,  out  of  an 
ambition  of  universality  ?  (what  a  preposterous  fop 
would  he  be  !)  or  stopping  to  drink  and  carouse 
when  he  ought  to  be  moving  onward,  because 
Hannibal  did  it  ?  or  of  being  a  rake  because  Alci- 
biades  had  a  reputation  of  that  sort  (unless,  per- 
haps, it  be  some  one  of  our  lively  ultra-classical 
neighbors,  whose  father  has  indiscreetly  chris- 
tened him  Aleibiade,  and  who  studies  Greek  beauty 


ANCIENT   AND   MODERN  EXAMPLE.          129 

in  a  ballet)  ?  We  do  not  think  of  imitating  men  in 
Greek  helmets  or  the  Roman  toga.  Their  exam- 
ple is  only  for  school-exercises,  or  to  be  brought 
forward  in  the  speech  of  some  virgin  orator. 
We  must  have  heroism  in  a  hat  and  boots,  and 
good-fellowship  at  a  modern  table.  It  is  our  ev- 
ery-day  names,  Smith,  Jones,  and  Robinson,  that 
must  be  instanced  for  an  example  which  we  can 
thoroughly  feel.  Has  Thompson  done  a  handsome 
action  ?  Everybody  cries,  "  What  a  good  fellow 
is  Thompson  !  "  Is  a  living  man  of  wit  effeminate 
and  a  luxurious  liver?  The  example  becomes 
perilous.  It  is  no  remote  infection,  no  "  Plague 
of  Athens."  The  disease  is  next  door — a  pesti- 
lence that  loungeth  at  noon — a  dandy  cholera. 

Nobody  cares  much  for  Psetus  and  Arria,  and 
the  fine  example  they  set.  Those  Romans  seem 
bound  to  have  set  them,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
"  Selects  e  Prof  anis  "  and  the  publications  of  Mr. 
Valpy.  Lucretia  sits  "  alone  in  her  glory,"  a  kind 
of  suicide-statue — too  hard  of  example  to  be  fol- 
lowed. We  can  not  think,  somehow,  that  she  felt 
much,  except  as  a  personage  who  should  one  day 
be  in  the  classical  dictionaries.  And  Portia's  ap- 
pears an  odd  and  unfeeling  taste,  who  swallowed 
"  burning  coals,"  instead  of  having  a  proper  wo- 
manly faint,  and  taking  a  glass  of  water. 

But  tell  us  of  "Mrs.  Corbet"  (celebrated  by 
Pope),  who  heroically  endured  the  cancer  that 
killed  her,  and  we  understand  the  thing.  Re- 
9 


130  TABLE-TALK. 

count  us  a  common  surgical  case  of  a  man  who 
has  his  leg  cut  off  without  wincing  ;  and,  as  we 
are  no  farther  off  than  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospi- 
tal, it  comes  home  to  us.  Tell  us  what  a  good 
fellow  Thomson  the  poet  was,  or  how  Quin  took 
him  out  of  a  spunging-house  with  a  hundred 
pounds,  or  how  Johnson  "  loved  to  dine,"  or  Cow- 
per  solaced  his  grief  with  flowers  and  verses,  and 
we  all  comprehend  the  matter  perfectly,  and  are 
incited  to  do  likewise. 


MILTON  AND  HIS  PORTRAITS. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  Milton,  however 
estimable  and  noble  at  heart,  was  far  from  being 
perfect  in  his  notions  of  household  government. 
He  exacted  too  much  submission  to  be  loved  as 
he  wished.  His  wife  (which  was  a  singular  pro- 
ceeding in  the  bride  of  a  young  poet)  absented 
herself  from  him  in  less  than  a  month  after  their 
marriage — that  is  to  say,  during  the  very  honey- 
moon ;  and  she  staid  away  the  whole  summer 
with  her  relations.  He  made  his  daughters  read 
to  him  in  languages  which  they  did  not  under- 
stand ;  and  in  one  part  of  his  works  he  piques 
himself,  like  Johnson,  on  being  a  good  hater. 
Now,  "  good  haters,"  as  they  call  themselves,  are 
sometimes  very  good  men,  and  hate  out  of  zeal 
for  something  they  love  ;  neither  would  we  un- 
dervalue the  services  which  such  haters  may  have 


WILLIAM  HAY.  131 

done  mankind.  They  may  have  been  necessary  ; 
though  a  true  Christian  philosophy  proposes  to 
supersede  them,  and  certainly  does  not  recom- 
mend them.  But  as  all  men  have  their  faults,  so 
these  men  are  not  apt  to  have  the  faults  that  are 
least  disagreeable,  even  to  one  another  ;  for  it  is  ob- 
servable that  good  haters  are  far  from  loving  their 
brethren,  the  good  haters  on  the  other  side  ;  and 
their  tempers  are  apt  to  be  infirm  and  overbearing. 
In  the  most  authentic  portraits  of  Milton,  venerate 
them  as  one  must,  it  is  difficult  not  to  discern  a 
certain  uneasy  austerity — a  peevishness — a  blight 
of  something  not  sound  in  opinion  and  feeling. 

WILLIAM  HAY. 

Hay,  the  author  of  an  "  Essay  on  Deformity," 
was  a  member  of  Parliament,  and  an  adherent, 
but  not  a  servile  one,  to  the  government  of  Sir 
Robert  Walpole.  He  was  author  of  several  pub- 
lications on  moral  and  political  subjects,  interest- 
ing in  their  day,  and  not  unworthy  of  being  looked 
at  by  posterity.  He  was  a  very  amiable  and  be- 
nevolent man,  of  which  his  essays  afford  abun- 
dant evidence  ;  and  his  name  is  to  be  added  to  the 
list  of  those  delightful  individuals,  not  so  rare  as 
might  be  imagined,  who  surmount  the  disadvan- 
tages of  personal  exterior  on  the  wings  of  beauty 
of  spirit.  It  is  observable,  however,  of  these  men, 
that  they  have  generally  fine  eyes. 


132  TABLE-TALK. 

BISHOP  COEBET. 

It  is  related  of  this  facetious  prelate,  who  flour- 
ished in  the  time  of  Charles  the  First,  and  whose 
poems  have  survived  in  the  collections,  that,  hav- 
ing been  tumbled  into  the  mud  with  a  fat  friend 
of  his  by  the  fall  of  a  coach,  he  said  that  "  Stub- 
bins  was  up  to  the  elbows  in  mud,  and  he  was  up 
to  the  elbows  in  Stubbins."  During  a  confirma- 
tion, he  said  to  the  country  people  who  were  press- 
ing too  closely  upon  the  ceremony,  "  Bear  off  there, 
or  I'll  confirm  you  with  my  staff."  And  another 
time,  on  a  like  occasion,  having  to  lay  his  hand  on 
the  head  of  a  very  bald  man,  he  turned  to  his 
chaplain  and  said,  "  Some  dust,  Lushington,"  to 
keep  his  hand  from  slipping. 

Corbet's  constitutional  vivacity  was  so  strong 
as  hardly  to  have  been  compatible  with  episcopal 
decorum.  But  times  and  manners  must  be  taken 
into_  consideration  ;  and,  though  a  bishop  of  this 
turn  of  mind  would  have  been  forced,  had  he  lived 
now,  to  be  more  considerate  in  regard  to  times 
and  places,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  he 
took  himself  for  as  good  a  churchman  as  he  was 
an  honest  man.  And  liberties  are  sometimes  tiJken 
by  such  men  with  serious  objects  of  regard,  not 
so  much  out  of  a  light  consideration,  as  from  the 
confidence  of  love.  Had  Corbet  lived  in  later 
times,  he  would,  perhaps,  have  furnished  as  high 
an  example  of  elegant  episcopacy  as  any  of  the 


HANDEL.  133 

Rundles  or  Shipleys.     As  it  was,  he  was  a  sort  of 
manly  college-boy,  who  never  grew  old. 

HOADLY. 

Hoadly,  the  son  of  the  Bishop,  and  author  of 
"  The  Suspicious  Husband,"  was  a  physician,  and 
a  good-natured,  benevolent  man.  His  play  has 
been  thought  as  profligate  as  those  of  Congreve  ; 
but  there  is  an  animal  spirit  in  it,  and  a  native 
undercurrent  of  good-feeling,  very  different  from 
the  sophistication  of  Congreve's  fine  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  Congreve  writes  like  a  rake  upon 
system ;  Hoadly  like  a  wild-hearted  youth  from 
school. 

VOLTAIRE. 

Perhaps  Voltaire  may  be  briefly,  and  not  un- 
justly, characterized  as  the  only  man  who  ever 
obtained  a  place  in  the  list  of  the  greatest  names 
of  the  earth  by  an  aggregation  of  secondary  abil- 
ities. He  was  the  god  of  cleverness.  To  be  sure, 
he  was  a  very  great  wit. 

^  HANDEL. 

Handel  was  the  Jupiter  of  music  ;  nor  is  the 
title  the  less  warranted  from  his  including  in  his 
genius  the  most  affecting  tenderness  as  well  as 
the  most  overpowering  grandeur  ;  for  the  father 
of  gods  and  men  was  not  only  a  thunderer,  but  a 


134  TABLE-TALK. 

love-maker.  Handel  was  the  son  of  a  physician, 
and,  like  Mozart,  began  composing  for  the  public 
in  his  childhood.  He  was  the  grandest  composer 
that  is  known  to  have  existed,  wielding,  as  it 
were,  the  choirs  of  heaven  and  earth  together. 
Mozart  said  of  him  that  he  "struck  you,  when- 
ever he  pleased,  with  a  thunderbolt."  His  halle- 
lujahs open  the  heavens.  He  utters  the  word 
"  Wonderful "  as  if  all  their  trumpets  spoke  to- 
gether. And  then,  when  he  comes  to  earth,  to 
make  love  amid  nymphs  and  shepherds  (for  the 
beauties  of  all  religions  found  room  in  his  breast), 
his  strains  drop  milk  and  honey,  and  his  love  is 
the  usefulness  of  the  Golden  Age.  We  see  his 
Acis  and  Galatea,  in  their  very  songs,  looking  one 
another  in  the  face  in  all  the  truth  and  mutual 
homage  of  the  tenderest  passion  ;  and  poor  jeal- 
ous Polyphemus  stands  in  the  background,  black- 
ening the  scene  with  his  gigantic  despair.  Chris- 
tian, meekness  and  suffering  attain  their  last  de- 
gree of  pathos  in  "  He  shall  feed  his  flock,"  and 
"He  was  despised  and  rejected."  We  see  the 
blush  on  the  smitten  cheek,  mingling  with  the 
hair. 

Handel  had  a  large,  heavy  person,  and  was 
occasionally  vehement  in  his  manners.  He  ate 
and  drank  too  much  (probably  out  of  a  false  no- 
tion of  supporting  his  excitement),  and  thus  occa- 
sionally did  harm  to  mind  as  well  as  body.  But 
he  was  pious,  generous,  and  independent,  and, 


MONTAIGNE.  135 

like  all  great  geniuses,  a  most  thorough  lover  of 
his  art,  making,  no  compromises  with  its  demands 
and  its  dignity  for  the  sake  of  petty  conveniences. 
There  is  often  to  be  found  a  quaintness  and  stiff- 
ness in  his  style,  owing  to  the  fashion  of  the  day ; 
and  he  had  not  at  his  command  the  instrumenta- 
tion of  the  present  times,  which  no  man  would 
have  turned  to  more  overwhelming  account :  but 
what  is  sweet  in  his  compositions  is  surpassed 
in  sweetness  by  no  other  ;  and  what  is  great,  is 
greater  than  in  any. 

MONTAIGNE. 

Montaigne's  father,  to  create  in  him  an  equa- 
ble turn  of  mind,  used  to  have  him  waked  during 
his  infancy  with  a  flute. 

Montaigne  was  a  philosopher  of  the  material 
order,  and  as  far-sighted  perhaps  that  way  as  any 
man  that  ever  lived,  having  that  temperament, 
between  jovial  and  melancholy,  which  is  so  favor- 
able for  seeing  fair  play  to  human  nature  ;  and 
his  good-heartedness  rendered  him  an  enthusiastic 
friend,  and  a  believer  in  the  goodness  of  others, 
notwithstanding  his  insight  into  their  follies  and 
a  good  stock  of  his  own  ;  for  he  lived  in  a  coarse 
and  licentious  age,  cf  the  freedoms  of  which  he 
partook.  But,  for  want  of  something  more  imagi- 
native and  spiritual  in  his  genius,  his  perceptions 
stopped  short  of  the  very  finest  points,  critical 
and  philosophical.  He  knew  little  of  the  capabili- 


136  TABLE-TALK. 

ties  of  the  mind,  out  of  the  pale  of  its  more  mani- 
fest influences  from  the  body  ;  his  taste  in  poetry 
was  logical,  not  poetical ;  and  he  ventured  upon 
openly  despising  romances  ("  Amadis  de  Gaul," 
etc.),  which  was  hardly  in  keeping  with  the  modesty 
of  his  motto,  "  Que  s$ais-je  f  "  (What  do  I  know  ?) 
Montaigne,  who  loved  his  father's  memory, 
rode  out  in  a  cloak  which  had  belonged  to  him  ; 
and  would  say  of  it,  that  he  seemed  to  feel 
wrapped  up  in  his  father  ("il  me  semble  m'enve- 
lopper  de  lui").  Some  writers  have  sneered  at 
this  saying,  and  at  the  conclusions  drawn  from  it 
respecting  the  amount  of  his  filial  affection ;  but 
it  does  him  as  much  honor  as  anything  he  ever 
uttered.  There  is  as  much  depth  of  feeling  in  it 
as  vivacity  of  expression. 

WALLER. 

Pope  said  of  Waller,  that  he  would  have  been 
a  better  poet  had  he  entertained  less  admiration 
of  people  in  power.  But  surely  it  was  the  excess 
of  that  propensity  which  inspired  him.  He  was 
naturally  timid  and  servile  ;  and  poetry  is  the 
flower  of  a  man's  real  nature,  whatever  it  be,  pro- 
vided there  be  intellect  and  music  enough  to  bring 
it  to  bear.  Waller's  very  best  pieces  are  those  in 
praise  of  sovereign  authority  and  of  a  disdainful 
mistress.  He  would  not  have  sung  Saccharissa  so 
well  had  she  favored  him. 


iPHAEL  AND  MICHAEL  ANGELO.  137 

OTWAY. 

is  the  poet  of  sensual  pathos  ;  for,  af- 
fecting as  he  sometimes  is,  he  knows  no  way  to 
the  heart  but  through  the  senses.  His  very  friend- 
ship, though  enthusiastic,  is  violent,  and  has  a 
smack  of  bullying.  He  was  a  man  of  generous 
temperament,  spoilt  by  a  profligate  age.  He  seems 
to  dress  up  a  beauty  in  tears,  only  for  the  purpose 
of  stimulating  her  wrongers. 

RAPHAEL  AND  MICHAEL  ANGELO. 

The  lovers  of  energy  in  its  visible  aspect  think 
Michael  Angelo  the  greatest  artist  that  ever  lived. 
Ariosto  (in  not  one  of  his  happiest  compliments), 
punning  upon  his  name,  calls  him 

"  Michel,  piti  che  mortal,  Angiol  divino." 
(Michael,  the  more  than  man,  Angel  divine.) 

Pursuing  the  allusion,  it  may  be  said  that 
there  is  much  of  the  same  difference  between  him 
and  Raphael  as  there  is  between  their  namesakes, 
the  warlike  archangel  Michael,  in  "  Paradise  Lost," 
and  Raphael,  "  the  affable  archangel."  But  sure- 
ly Raphael,  by  a  little  exaggeration,  could  have 
done  all  that  Michael  Angelo  did ;  whereas  Mi- 
chael Angelo  could  not  have  composed  himself 
into  the  tranquil  perfection  of  Raphael.  Rapha- 
el's gods  and  sibyls  are  as  truly  grand  as  those 


138  TABLE-TALK. 

of  Buonarroti ;  while  the  latter,  out  of  an  instinct 
of  inferiority  in  intellectual  and  moral  grandeur, 
could  not  help  eking  out  the  power  of  his  with 
something  of  a  convulsive  strength — an  ostenta- 
tion of  muscle  and  attitude.  His  Jupiter  was  a 
Mars  intellectualized.  Raphael's  was  always  Jupi- 
ter himself,  needing  nothing  more,  and  including 
the  strength  of  beauty  in  that  of  majesty,  as  true 
moral  grandeur  does  in  nature.* 

WAX  AND  HONEY. 

Wax-lights,  though  we  are  accustomed  to 
overlook  the  fact,  and  rank  them  with  ordinary 
commonplaces,  are  true  fairy  tapers — a  white 
metamorphosis  from  the  flowers,  crowned  with 
the  most  intangible  of  all  visible  mysteries,  fire. 

Then  there  is  honey,  which  a  Greek  poet 
would  have  called  the  sister  of  wax — a  thing  as 
beautiful  to  eat  as  the  other  is  to  look  upon  ;  and 
beautiful  to  look  upon,  too.  Yfhat  two  extraor- 
dinary substances  to  be  made,  by  little  winged 
creatures,  out  of  roses  and  lilies  !  What  a  singu- 
lar and  lovely  energy  in  nature  to  impel  those 
little  creatures  thus  to  fetch  out  the  sweet  and 
elegant  properties  of  the  colored  fragrances  of 

*  Since  making  these  remarks,  I  have  seen  the  bust  of  a 
Susannah,  which,  if  truly  attributed  to  Michael  Angelo,  proves 
him  to  have  been  the  master  of  a  sweetness  of  expression  in- 
ferior to  no  man.  It  is  indeed  the  perfection  of  loveliness. 


m 


ASSOCIATIONS  WITH  SHAKESPEARE.        139 

the  gardens,  and  serve  them  up  to  us  for  food 
and  light  ! — honey  to  eat,  and  waxen  tapers  to 
eat  it  by  !  What  more  graceful  repast  could  be 
imagined  on  one  of  the  fairy  tables  made  by  Vul- 
can, which  moved  of  their  own  accord,  and  came 
gliding,  when  he  wanted  a  luncheon,  to  the  side 
of  Apollo  ! — the  honey  golden  as  his  lyre,  and  the 
wax  fair  as  his  shoulders.  Depend  upon  it,  he 
has  eaten  of  it  many  a  time,  chatting  with  Hebe 
before  some  Olympian  concert ;  and  as  he  talked 
in  an  undertone,  fervid  as  the  bees,  the  bass- 
strings  of  his  lyre  murmured  an  accompaniment. 

ASSOCIATIONS  WITH  SHAKESPEARE. 

How  naturally  the  idea  of  Shakespeare  can  be 
made  to  associate  itself  with  anything  which  is 
worth  mention  !  Take  Christmas  for  instance  : 
"  Shakespeare  and  Christmas "  ;  the  two  ideas 
fall  as  happily  together  as  "  wine  and  walnuts," 
or  heart  and  soul.  So  you  may  put  together 
"  Shakespeare  and  May,"  or  "  Shakespeare  and 
June,"  and  twenty  passages  start  into  your  mem- 
ory about  spring  and  violets.  Or  you  may  say, 
"  Shakespeare  and  Love,"  and  you  are  in  the 
midst  of  a  bevy  of  bright  damsels,  as  sweet  as 
rose-buds  ;  or  "  Shakespeare  and  Death,"  and  all 
graves,  and  thoughts  of  graves,  are  before  you  ; 
or  "  Shakespeare  and  Life,"  and  you  have  the 
whole  world  of  youth,  and  spirit,  and  Hotspur, 


140  TABLE-TALK. 

and  life  itself ;  or  you  may  say  even,  "  Shake- 
speare and  Hate,"  and  he  will  say  all  that  can  be 
said  for  hate,  as  well  as  against  it,  till  you  shall 
take  Shylock  himself  into  your  Christian  arms, 
and  tears  shall  make  you  of  one  faith. 

BAD  GREAT  MEN. 

There  have,  undoubtedly,  been  bad  great  men; 
but,  inasmuch  as  they  were  bad,  they  were  not 
great.  Their  greatness  was  not  entire.  There 
was  a  great  piece  of  it  omitted.  They  had  heads, 
legs,  and  arms  ;  but  they  wanted  hearts,  and  thus 
were  not  whole  men. 

CICERO. 

This  great  Roman  special  pleader — the  lawyer 
of  antiquity,  the  child  of  the  old  age  of  Roman 
virtue,  when  words  began  to  be  taken  for  things 
— was  the  only  man  ever  made  great  by  vanity. 

FLOWERS  IN  WINTER. 

It  is  a  charming  sight  to  see  China  roses  cover- 
ing the  front  of  a  cottage  in  winter-time.  It  looks 
as  if  we  need  have  no  winter,  as  far  as  flowers  are 
concerned  ;  and,  in  fact,  it  is  possible  to  have  both 
a  beautiful  and  a  fragrant  garden  in  January. 
There  is  a  story  in  Boccaccio  of  a  magician  who 
conjured  up  a  garden  in  winter-time.  His  magic 


CHARLES  LAMB.  141 

onsisted  in  his  having  a  knowledge  beyond  his 
time  ;  and  magic  pleasures,  so  to  speak,  await  on 
all  who  choose  to  exercise  knowledge  after  his 
fashion,  and  to  realize  what  the  progress  of  infor- 
mation and  good  taste  may  suggest. 

Even  a  garden  six  feet  wide  is  better  than 
none.  Now  the  possessor  of  such  a  garden  might 
show  his  "  magic  "  by  making  the  most  of  it,  and 
filling  it  with  color. 

CHARLES  LAMB. 

Lamb  was  a  humanist,  in  the  most  universal 
sense  of  the  term.  His  imagination  was  not  great, 
and  he  also  wanted  sufficient  heat  and  music  to 
render  his  poetry  as  good  as  his  prose  ;  but  as  a 
prose  writer,  and  within  the  wide  circuit  of  hu- 
manity, no  man  ever  took  a  more  complete  range 
than  he.  He  had  felt,  thought,  and  suffered  so 
much,  that  he  literally  had  intolerance  for  no- 
thing ;  and  he  never  seemed  to  have  it,  but  when 
he  supposed  the  sympathies  of  men,  who  might 
have  known  better,  to  be  imperfect.  He  was  a 
wit  and  an  observer  of  the  first  order,  as  far  as 
the  world  around  him  was  concerned,  and  society 
in  its  existing  state  ;  for,  as  to  anything  theoreti- 
cal or  transcendental,  no  man  ever  had  less  care 
for  it,  or  less  power.  To  take  him  out  of  habit 
and  convention,  however  tolerant  he  was  to  those 
who  could  speculate  beyond  them,  was  to  put 


142  TABLE-TALK. 

him  into  an  exhausted  receiver,  or  to  send  him 
naked,  shivering,  and  driven  to  shatters,  through 
the  regions  of  space  and  time.  He  was  only  at 
his  ease  in  the  old  arms  of  humanity  ;  and  hu- 
manity loved  and  comforted  him  like  one  of  its 
wisest  though  weakest  children.  His  life  had  ex- 
perienced great  and  peculiar  sorrows  ;  but  he 
kept  up  a  balance  between  those  and  his  consola- 
tions, by  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  and  the  ever- 
willing  sociality  of  his  humor  ;  though,  now  and 
then,  as  if  he  would  cram  into  one  moment  the 
spleen  of  years,  he  would  throw  out  a  startling 
and  morbid  subject  for  reflection,  perhaps  in  no 
better  shape  than  a  pun,  for  he  was  a  great  pun- 
ster. It  was  a  levity  that  relieved  the  gravity  of 
his  thoughts  and  kept  them  from  falling  too  heav- 
ily earthward. 

Lamb  was  under  the  middle  size,  and  of  fra- 
gile make,  but  with  a  head  as  fine  as  if  it  had 
been  carved  on  purpose.  He  had  a  very  weak 
stomach.  Three  glasses  of  wine  would  put  him 
in  as  lively  a  condition  as  can  only  be  wrought  in 
some  men  by  as  many  bottles  ;  which  subjected 
him  to  mistakes  on  the  part  of  the  inconsiderate. 

Lamb's  essays,  especially  those  collected  under 
the  signature  of  ELIA,  will  take  their  place  among 
the  daintiest  productions  of  English  wit-melan- 
choly— an  amiable  melancholy  being  the  ground- 
work of  them,  and  serving  to  throw  out  their 
delicate  flowers  of  wit  and  character  with  the 


SPORTING.  143 

greater  nicety.  Nor  will  they  be  liked  the  less 
for  a  sprinkle  of  old  language,  which  was  natural 
in  him  by  reason  of  his  great  love  of  the  old  Eng- 
lish writers.  Shakespeare  himself  might  have  read 
them,  and  Hamlet  have  quoted  them. 

SPOUTING. 

The  second  of  September  is  terrible  in  the  an- 
nals of  the  French  Revolution,  for  a  massacre, 
the  perpetrators  of  which  were  called  Septem- 
brizers.  If  the  birds  had  the  settlement  of  alma- 
nacs, new  and  startling  would  be  the  list  of  Sep- 
tembrizers  and  their  fusillades  ;  amazing  the  mul- 
titude of  good-humored  and  respectable  faces  that 
would  have  to  look  in  the  glass  of  a  compulso- 
ry self-knowledge,  and  recognize  themselves  for 
slaughterers  by  wholesale — or  worse,  distributors 
of  broken  bones  and  festering  dislocations. 

"  And  what "  (a  reader  may  ask)  "  would  be 
the  good  of  that,  if  these  gentlemen  are  not  aware 
of  their  enormities  ?  Would  it  be  doing  anything 
but  substituting  one  pain  for  another,  and  setting 
men's  minds  upon  needless  considerations  of  the 
pain  which  exists  in  the  universe  ?  " 

Yes  ;  for  these  gentlemen  are  perhaps  not 
quite  so  innocent  and  unconscious  as,  in  the  gra- 
tuitousness  of  your  philosophy,  you  are  willing  to 
suppose  them.  Besides,  should  they  cease  to  give 
pain,  they  would'  cease  to  feel  it  in  its  relation  to 


144  TABLE-TALK. 

themselves  ;  and  as  to  the  pain  existing  in  the 
universe,  people  in  general  are  not  likely  to  feel 
it  too  much,  especially  the  healthy  ;  nor  ought 
anybody  to  do  so,  in  a  feeble  sense,  as  long  as  he 
does  what  he  can  to  diminish  it,  and  trusts  the 
rest  to  Providence  and  futurity.  What  we  are 
incited  by  our  own  thoughts,  or  those  of  others, 
to  amend,  it  becomes  us  to  consider  to  that  end  : 
what  we  can  not  contribute  any  amendment  to, 
we  must  think  as  well  of  as  we  can  contrive. 
Sportsmen,  for  the  most  part,  are  not  a  very 
thoughtful  generation.  No  harm  would  be  done 
them  by  putting  a  little  more  consideration  into 
their  heads.  On  the  other  hand,  all  sportsmen 
are  not  so  comfortable  in  their  reflections  as  their 
gayety  gives  out ;  and  the  moment  a  man  finds  a 
contradiction  in  himself  between  his  amusements 
and  his  humanity,  it  is  a  signal  that  he  should 
give  them  up.  He  will  otherwise  be  hurting  his 
nature  in  other  respects,  as  well  as  in  this  ;  he 
will  be  exasperating  his  ideas  of  his  fellow  crea- 
tures, of  the  world,  of  God  himself  ;  and  thus  he 
will  be  inflicting  pain  on  all  sides,  for  the  sake  of 
tearing  out  of  it  a  doubtful  pleasure. 

"  But  it  is  effeminate  to  think  too  much  of 
pain,  under  any  circumstances." 

Yes — including  that  of  leaving  off  a  favorite 
pastime. 

Oh,  we  need  not  want  noble  pains,  if  we  are 
desirous  of  them — pains  of  honorable  endeavors, 


SPORTING.  145 

pains  of  generous  sympathy,  pains,  most  mascu- 
line pains,  of  self-denial.  Are  not  these  more 
manly,  more  anti-effeminate,  than  playing  with 
life  and  suffering,  like  spoilt  children,  and  crack- 
ing the  legs  of  partridges  ? 

Most  excellent  men  have  there  been,  and 
doubtless  are,  among  sportsmen  ;  truly  gallant 
natures,  reflecting  ones  too  ;  men  of  fine  wit  and 
genius,  and  kind  as  mother's  milk  in  all  things  but 
this — in  all  things  but  killing  mothers  because 
they  are  no  better  than  birds,  and  leaving  the 
young  to  starve  in  the  nest,  and  strewing  the 
brakes  with  agonies  of  feathered  wounds.  If  I 
sometimes  presume  to  think  myself  capable  of 
teaching  them  better,  it  is  only  upon  points  of 
this  nature,  and  because,  for  want  of  early  habit 
and  example,  my  prejudices  have  not  been  enlisted 
against  my  reflection.  Most  thankfully  would  I 
receive  the  wisdom  they  might  be  able  to  give 
me  on  all  other  points.  But  see  what  habit  can 
do  with  the  best  natures,  and  how  inferior  ones 
may  sometimes  be  put  upon  a  superior  ground  of 
knowledge  from  the  absence  of  it.  Gilbert  Wake- 
field  I  take  to  have  been  a  man  of  crabbed  nature, 
as  well  as  confined  understanding,  compared  with 
Fox  ;  yet  in  the  public  argument  which  he  had 
with  the  statesman  on  the  subject,  Wakefield  had 
the  best  of  it,  poorly  as  it  was  managed  by  him. 
The  good-natured  legislator  could  only  retreat 
into  vague  generalities  and  smiling  admissions, 
10 


146  TABLE-TALK. 

and  hope  that  his  correspondent  would  not  think 
ill  of  him.  And  who  does  ?  We  love  Fox  al- 
ways, almost  when  he  is  on  the  instant  of  pointing 
his  gun  ;  and  we  are  equally  inclined  to  quarrel 
with  the  tone  and  manner  of  his  disputant,  even 
when  in  the  act  of  abasing  it.  But  what  does  this 
prove,  except  the  danger  of  a  bad  habit  to  the 
self -reconciling  instincts  of  a  fine  enjoying  nature, 
and  to  the  example  which  flows  from  it  into  so 
much  reconcilement  to  others  ?  When  a  common 
hard-minded  sportsman  takes  up  his  fowling-piece 
he  is  to  be  regarded  only  as  a  kind  of  wild  beast 
on  two  legs,  pursuing  innocently  his  natural  pro- 
pensities, and  about  to  seek  his  prey,  as  a  ferret 
does,  or  a  wild  cat  ;  but  the  more  of  a  man  he  is, 
the  more  bewildered  and  dangerous  become  one's 
thoughts  respecting  the  meeting  of  extremes. 
When  Fox  takes  up  the  death-tube,  we  sophisti- 
cate for  his  sake,  and  are  in  hazard  of  becoming 
effeminate  on  the  subject,  purely  to  shut  our  eyes 
to  the  cruelty  in  it,  and  to  let  the  pleasant  gentle- 
man have  his  way. 

As  to  the  counter-arguments  about  Providence 
and  permission  of  evil,  they  are  edge  tools  which 
it  is  nothing  but  presumption  to  play  with.  What 
the  mind  may  discover  in  those  quarters  of  specu- 
lation, it  is  impossible  to  assert  ;  but,  as  far  as  it 
has  looked  yet,  nothing  is  ascertained,  except  that 
the  circle  of  God's  privileges  is  one  thing,  and 
that  of  man's  another.  If  we  knew  all  about  pain 


MAECENAS.  147 

and  evil,  and  their  necessities,  and  their  conse- 
quences, we  might  have  a  right  to  inflict  them, 
or  to  leave  them  untouched  ;  but  not  being  pos- 
sessed of  this  knowledge,  and  on  the  other  hand 
being  gifted  with  doubts,  and  sympathies,  and 
consciences,  after  our  human  fashion,  we  must 
give  our  fellow  creatures  the  benefit  of  those 
doubts  and  consciences,  and  cease  to  assume  the 
rights  of  gods,  upon  pain  of  becoming  less  than 
men. 

WISDOM  OF  THE  HEAD  AND  OF  THE  HEAET. 

The  greatest  intellects  ought  not  to  rank  at 
the  top  of  their  species,  any  more  than  the  means 
rank  above  the  end.  The  instinctive  wisdom  of 
the  heart  can  realize,  while  the  all-mooting  sub- 
tlety of  the  head  is  only  doubting.  It  is  a  beau- 
tiful feature  in  the  angelical  hierarchy  of  the  Jews 
that  the  Seraphs  rank  first  and  the  Cherubs  after  ; 
that  is  to  say,  Love  before  Knowledge. 

MAECENAS 

Wielded  the  Roman  Empire  with  rings  on  his  lit- 
tle finger.  He  deserves  his  immortality  as  a  pa- 
tron of  genius  ;  and  yet  he  was  a  dandy  of  the 
most  luxurious  description  amid  the  iron  and 
marble  of  old  Rome — the  most  effeminate  of  the 
effeminate,  as  Ney  was  "  bravest  of  the  brave." 
The  secret  of  this  weakness  in  a  great  man  (for 


148  TABLE-TALK. 

great  he  was,  both  as  a  statesman  and  a  discerner 
of  greatness  in  others)  was  to  be  found  in  exces- 
sive weakness  of  constitution. 

LOED  SHAFTESBURY'S  EXPERIENCE   OF 
MATRIMONY. 

Shaftesbury  was  an  honest  man  and  politician, 
an  elegant  but  fastidious  writer,  and,  though  a 
poor  critic  in  poetry,  could  discern  and  forcibly 
expose  the  errors  of  superstition.  In  one  of  his 
letters  is  an  extraordinary  passage,  not  much  cal- 
culated to  delight  the  lady  whom  he  married. 
He  said  he  found  marriage  "not  so  muck  worse" 
than  celibacy  as  he  had  expected  !  He  appears  to 
have  had  but  a  sorry  physique. 

A  PHILOSOPHER  THROWN  FROM  HIS  HORSE. 

Montaigne  was  one  day  thrown  with  great  vio- 
lence from  his  horse.  He  was  horribly  knocked 
and  bruised  within  an  inch  of  his  life  ;  was  cast 
into  a  swoon ;  underwent  agonies  in  recovering 
from  it ;  and  all  this  he  noted  down,  as  it  were, 
in  the  faint  light,  the  torn  and  battered  tablets  of 
his  memory,  during  the  affliction  ;  drawing  them 
forth  afterward  for  the  benefit  of  the  reflecting. 
If  you  had  met  such  a  man  in  the  streets,  being 
carried  along  on  a  shutter,  he  would  have  been  pro- 
viding, as  well  as  he  was  able,  for  your  instruction 
and  entertainment  !  This  is  philosophy,  surely. 


MRS.  SIDDONS.  149 

WORLDS   OF  DIFFERENT  PEOPLE. 

"  The  world  ! "  The  man  of  fashion  means 
St.  James's  by  it ;  the  mere  man  of  trade  means 
the  Exchange  and  a  good  prudent  mistrust.  But 
men  of  sense  and  imagination,  whether  in  the 
world  of  fashion  or  trade,  who  use  the  eyes  and 
faculties  which  God  has  given  them,  mean  His 
beautiful  planet,  gorgeous  with  sunset,  lovely 
with  green  fields,  magnificent  with  mountains— 
a  great  rolling  energy,  full  of  health,  love,  and 
hope,  and  fortitude,  and  endeavor.  Compare  this 
world  with  the  others.  The  men  of  fashion's  is 
no  better  than  a  billiard-ball ;  the  money-getter's 
than  a  musty  plum. 

MRS.   SIDDONS 

Was  a  person  more  admirable  than  charming,  and 
not  even  so  perfectly  admirable  on  the  stage  as  the 
prevalence  of  an  artificial  style  of  acting  in  her 
time  induced  her  worshipers  to  suppose.  She  was 
a  grand  and  effective  actress,  never  at  a  loss,  and 
equal  to  any  demands  of  the  loftier  parts  of  pas- 
sion ;  but  her  grandeur  was  rather  of  the  queen- 
like  and  conventional  order,  than  of  the  truly 
heroical.  There  was  a  lofty  spirit  in  it,  but  a 
spirit  not  too  lofty  to  take  stage-dignity  for  the 
top  of  its  mark.  Mrs.  Siddons  was  born  and  bred 
up  in  the  profession,  one  of  a  family  of  actors,  and 
the  daughter  of  a  mother  of  austere  manners. 


150  TABLE-TALK. 

Mr.  Campbell,  in  his  Life  of  her,  somewhat 
quaintly  called  her  "  the  Great  Woman " ;  but 
I  know  not  in  what  respect  she  was  particularly 
great  as  to  womanhood.  It  was  queenhood,  not 
womanhood,  that  was  her  forte — professional 
greatness  ;  not  that  aggregation  of  gentle  and 
generous  qualities,  that  union  of  the  sexually 
charming  and  the  dutifully  noble,  which  makes 
up  the  idea  of  perfection  in  the  woman. 

Great  women  belong  to  history  and  to  self- 
sacrifice,  not  to  the  annals  of  a  stage,  however 
dignified.  Godiva  gives  us  the  idea  of  a  great 
woman.  So  does  Edward  I.'s  queen,  who  sucked 
the  poison  out  of  his  arm.  So  does  Abelard's  He- 
loise,  loving  with  all  her  sex's  fondness  as  long 
as  she  could,  and  able,  for  another's  sake,  to  re- 
nounce the  pleasures  of  love  for  the  worship  of  the 
sentiment.  Pasta,  with  her  fine,  simple  manner 
and  genial  person,  may  be  supposed  the  represent- 
ative of  a  great  woman.  The  greatness  is  rela- 
tive to  the  womanhood.  It  only  partakes  that  of 
the  man,  inasmuch  as  it  carries  to  its  height  what 
is  gentle  and  enduring  in  both  sexes.  The  mo- 
ment we  recognize  anything  of  what  is  understood 
by  the  word  masculine  in  a  woman  (not  in  the 
circumstances  into  which  she  is  thrown,  but  in 
herself  or  aspect),  her  greatness,  in  point  of  wo- 
manhood, is  impaired.  She  should  hereafter,  as 
Macbeth  says,  "bring  forth  men-children  only." 
Mrs.  Siddons's  extraordinary  theory  about  Lady 


NON-NECESSITY  OF  GOOD  WORDS  TO  MUSIC.  151 

Macbeth  (that  she  was  a  fragile  little  being,  very- 
feminine  to  look  at)  was  an  instinct  to  this  effect, 
repellent  of  the  association  of  ideas  which  people 
would  form  betwixt  her  and  her  personation  of 
the  character. 

Mrs.  Siddons's  refinement  was  not  on  a  par  with 
her  loftiness.  I  remember  in  the  famous  sleeping- 
scene  in  "  Macbeth,"  when  she  washed  her  hands 
and  could  not  get  the  blood  off,  she  made  "  a  face  " 
in  passing  them  under  her  nose,  as  if  she  perceived 
a  foul  scent.  Now,  she  ought  to  have  shuddered 
and  looked  in  despair,  as  recognizing  the  stain  on 
her  soul* 

NON-NECESSITY  OF  GOOD  WORDS  TO  MUSIC. 

Music  is  an  art  that  in  its  union  with  words  in 
general  may  reasonably  take,  I  think,  the  higher 
place,  inferior  as  it  is  to  poetry  in  the  abstract. 
For  when  music  is  singing,  the  finest  part  of  our 
senses  takes  the  place  of  the  more  definite  intel- 
lect, and  nothing  surely  can  surpass  the  power  of 
an  affecting  and  enchanting  air  in  awakening  the 
very  flower  of  emotion.  On  this  account,  I  can 
well  understand  a  startling  saying  attributed  to 
the  great  Mozart,  that  he  did  not  care  for  having 
good  words  to  his  music.  He  wanted  only  the 

*  This  trait  of  character  has  been  mentioned  in  my  "  Auto- 
biography"; but  I  leave  it  standing,  partly  for  the  sake  of 
completing  a  sketch. 


152  TABLE-TALK. 

names  (as  it  were)  of  the  passions.     His  own 
poetry  supplied  the  rest. 

£** 
GOETHE. 

If  I  may  judge  of  Goethe  from  the  beautiful 
translations  of  him  by  Shelley,  Carlyle,  Anster, 
and  others,  he  had  a  subtile  and  sovereign  imagi- 
nation, was  a  master  in  criticism,  was  humane, 
universal,  reconciling,  a  noble  casuist,  a  genuine 
asserter  of  first  principles,  wise  in  his  generation, 
and  yet  possessing  the  wisdom  of  the  children  of 
light.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a  question  whether  any 
man  daring  to  think  and  speculate  as  he  has  done, 
would  have  been  treated  with  so  much  indul- 
gence, if  worldly  power  had  not  taken  him  under 
its  wing,  and  had  he  not  shown  too  conventional 
a  taste  for  remaining  there,  and  falling  in  with 
one  of  its  most  favored  opinions.  Goethe  main- 
tained that  the  great  point  for  society  to  strain  at 
wasLJiot  to  advance  (in  the  popular  sense  of  that 
word),  but  to  be  content  with  their  existing  con- 
dition, and  to  labor  contentedly  every  man  in  his 
vocation.  His  conclusion,  I  think,  is  refuted  by 
the  simple  fact  of  the  existence  of  hope  and  en- 
deavor in  the  nature  of  men.  If  society  is  deter- 
mined never  to  be  satisfied,  still  it  will  hope  to  be 
so  ;  the  hope  itself  may,  for  aught  that  can  be 
affirmed  to  the  contrary,  be  a  mere  part  of  the 
work — of  the  necessary  impulse  to  activity ;  but 
there  it  is — now  working  harder  than  ever — and 


GOETHE.  153 

a  thousand  Goethes  can  not  destroy,  though  they 
may  daunt  it.  They  must  destroy  hope  itself 
first,  and  life,  and  death  too  (which  is  continually 
renewing  the  ranks  of  the  hopeful  and  the  young), 
and  above  all  the  press,  which  will  never  stop  till 
it  has  shaken  the  world  more  even. 

It  was  easy  for  a  man  in  Goethe's  position  to 
recommend  people  to  be  content  with  their  own. 
But  to  be  content  with  some  positions  is  to  be 
superior  to  them  ;  and  yet  Goethe  after  all,  in  his 
own  person,  was  neither  superior  to,  nor  content 
with,  the  conventionalities  which  he  found  made 
for  him.  He  did  not  marry  the  woman  he  lived 
with  till  circumstances,  as  he  thought,  compelled 
him  ;  and  this  was  late  in  life.  And  instead  of 
being  superior  to  his  condition,  as  he  recommend- 
ed the  poor  and  struggling  to  be,  his  very  acqui- 
escence in  other  conventionalities  showed  how  lit- 
tle he  was  so.  If  this  great  universalist  proved 
his  superiority  by  condescension,  it  was  at  any 
rate  by  contracting  his  wings  and  his  views  into 
the  court  circle,  and  feathering  an  agreeable  nest 
which  he  never  gave  up.  Unluckily  for  the  repu- 
tation of  his  impartiality,  all  his  worldly  advan- 
tages were  on  the  side  of  his  theory.  It  is,  there- 
fore, impossible  to  show  that  it  was  anything  else 
but  a  convenient  acquiescence.  He  hazarded  no- 
thing to  prove  it  otherwise  ;  though,  in  the  in- 
stance of  his  non-marriage,  he  showed  how  will- 
ing he  was  to  depart  from  it  where  the  hazard 


154  TABLE-TALK. 

was  not  too  great.  In  England,  he  would  have 
married  sooner,  or  departed  from  his  acquies- 
cences  more. 

Goethe,  on  account  of  this  opinion  of  his,  and 
the  position  which  he  occupied,  is  not  popular  at 
present  in  Germany.  The  partisans  of  advance 
there  do  not  like  him,  perhaps  from  a  secret  feel- 
ing that  they  are  more  theoretical  than  practical 
themselves,  and  that  in  this  respect  he  has  repre- 
sented his  native  country  too  well.  For  honest 
Germany,  perhaps  because  she  is  more  material 
than  she  supposes,  and  has  unwittingly  acquired 
a  number  of  charities  and  domesticities  from  a 
certain  sensual  bonhomie,  which  has  given  her 
more  to  say  for  herself  in  that  matter  than  she 
or  her  transcendentalists  would  like  to  own,  is  far 
more  contemplative  than  active  in  her  politics, 
and  willing  enough  to  let  other  nations  play  the 
game  of  advancement,  as  long  as  she  can  eat, 
drink,  and  dream,  without  any  very  violent  inter- 
ruption to  her  self-complacency.  Pleasant  and 
harmless  may  she  live,  with  beau  ideals  (and  very 
respectable  ones  they  are)  in  the  novels  of  Augus- 
tus La  Fontaine  ;  and  may  no  worse  fate  befall 
the  rest  of  the  world,  if  it  is  to  get  no  farther. 
Much  of  it  has  not  got  half  so  far.  Her  great 
poet,  who  partook  of  the  same  bonhomie  to  an  ex- 
tent which  he  would  have  thought  unbecoming 
his  dignity  to  confess,  even  as  a  partaker  of  good 
things,  "  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  "  in  this  matter  a 


GOETHE.  155 

little  too  ingenuously  ;  and  for  this,  and  the  court 
airs  they  thought  he  gave  himself,  his  country- 
men will  not  forgive  him.  It  is  easy  for  his  whole- 
sale admirers,  especially  for  the  great  understand- 
ings among  them  (Mr.  Carlyle,  for  instance),  to 
draw  upon  all  the  possibilities  of  an  abstract  phi- 
losophy, and  give  a  superfine  unworldly  reason  for 
.whatever  he  did ;  but  \ve  must  take  even  great 
poets  as  we  find  them.  Shakespeare  himself  did 
not  escape  the  infection  of  a  sort  of  livery  servi- 
tude among  the  great  (for  actors  were  but  a  little 
above  that  condition  in  his  time).  With  all  his 
humanity,  he  finds  it  difficult  to  repress  a  certain 
tendency  to  browbeat  the  people  from  behind  the 
chairs  of  his  patrons  ;  and  though  Goethe,  living 
in  a  freer  age,  seldom  indulges  in  this  scornful 
mood  (for  it  seems  he  is  not  free  from  it),  yet  it 
is  impossible  to  help  giving  a  little  scorn  for  scorn, 
or  at  least  smile  for  smile,  when  we  see  the  poeti- 
cal minister  of  state,  with  his  inexperience  of  half 
the  ills  of  life,  his  birth,  his  money,  his  strength, 
beauty,  prosperity,  and  a  star  on  each  breast  of 
his  coat,  informing  us  with  a  sort  of  patriarchal 
dandyism,  or  as  Bonaparte  used  to  harangue  from 
his  throne,  that  he  is  contented  with  the  condition 
of  his  subjects  and  his  own — "France  et  moi" — 
and  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  be  good 
people  and  cobblers,  and  content  ourselves  with  a 
thousandth  part  of  what  it  would  distress  him  to 
miss. 


156  TABLE-TALK. 

BACON  AND   JAMES   THE   FIRST. 

Bacon,  in  the  exordium  of  his  "  Advancement 
of  Learning,"  has  expressed  so  much  astonishment 
at  the  talents  of  King  James  the  First  (consider- 
ing that  he  was  "not  only  a  king,  but  a  king 
born"),  that  the  panegyric  has  been  suspected  to 
be  a  "bold  irony."  I  am  inclined  to  think  other- 
wise. Bacon  was  a  born  courtier,  as  well  as  phi- 
losopher ;  and  even  his  philosophy,  especially  in 
a  man  of  his  turn  of  mind,  might  have  found  sub- 
tle reasons  for  venerating  a  being  who  was  in 
possession  of  a  good  portion  of  the  power  of  this 
earth. 

GOLDSMITH'S  LIFE  OF  BEAU  NASH. 

Nash  is  to  be  added  to  the  list  of  long  livers  ; 
and  it  is  worthy  of  notice  that  what  has  been  in- 
variably observed  of  long  livers,  and  appears  (with 
temperance  or  great  exercise)  to  be  the  only  inva- 
riable^  condition  of  their  longevity,  has  not  failed 
in  his  instance  :  he  was  an  early  riser. 

It  has  been  doubted  whether  Goldsmith  was 
the  author  of  the  "Life"  attributed  to  him.  I 
think,  however,  it  bears  strong  internal  marks  of 
his  hand,  though  not  in  its  happiest  or  most  con- 
fident moments.  Its  pleasantry  is  uneasy  and  over- 
done, as  if  conscious  of  having  got  into  company 
unfit  for  it ;  and  something  of  the  tawdriness  of 
the  subject  sticks  to  him — perhaps  from  a  secret 


JULIUS  OESAR.  157 

tendency  of  his  own  to  mix  up  the  external  charac- 
ter of  the  fine  gentleman,  "  in  a  blossom-colored 
coat,"  with  his  natural  character  as  a  writer.  Chal- 
mers, the  compiler  of  the  "  Biographical  Dictiona- 
ry," who  was  much  in  the  secrets  of  book-making, 
appears  to  have  had  no  doubt  on  the  subject.  It 
is  not  improbable  that  Goldsmith  had  materials 
for  the  "  Life,"  by  some  other  person,  put  into  his 
hands,  and  so  made  it  up  by  touches  of  his  own, 
and  by  altering  the  composition. 

JULIUS  C^ESAE. 

Caesar  was  one  of  the  greatest  men  that  ever 
lived,  as  far  as  a  man's  greatness  can  be  estimated 
from  his  soldiership,  and  general  talents,  and  per- 
sonal aggrandizement.  He  had  the  height  of 
genius  in  the  active  sense,  and  was  not  without  it 
in  the  contemplative.  He  was  a  captain,  a  writer, 
a  pleader,  a  man  of  the  world,  all  in  the  largest  as 
well  as  most  trivial  points  of  view,  and  superior 
to  all  scruples,  except  those  which  tended  to  the 
enlargement  of  his  fame,  such  as  clemency  in  con- 
quest. Whether  he  was  a  very  great  man  in  the 
prospective,  universal,  and  most  enduring  sense, 
as  a  man  of  his  species,  instead  of  a  man  of  his 
time,  is  another  question,  which  must  be  settled 
by  the  growing  lights  of  the  world  and  by  future 
ages.  He  put  an  end  to  his  country's  freedom, 
and  did  no  good,  that  I  am  aware  of,  to  any  one 


158  TABLE-TALK. 

but  himself,  unless  by  the  production  or  preven- 
tion of  results  known  only  to  Providence. 

FfiNELON. 

F6nelon  was  a  marvel  of  a  man — a  courtier  yet 
independent,  a  teacher  of  royalty  who  really  did 
teach,  a  liberal  devotee,  a  saint  in  polite  life.  His 
"Telemachus"  is  not  a  fine  poem,  as  some  call  it, 
but  it  is  a  beautiful  moral  novel.  He  had  the 
courage  to  advise  Louis  XIV.  not  to  marry  the 
bigot  Maintenon  ;  and  such  was  the  respect  borne 
to  his  character  by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and 
the  other  allied  generals,  that  they  exempted  his 
lands  at  Cambray  from  pillage,  when  in  possession 
of  that  part  of  Flanders.  The  utmost  fault  that 
could  be  found  with  him  was,  that  perhaps  the 
vanity  attributed  to  Frenchmen  found  some  last 
means  of  getting  into  a  corner  of  his  nature,  in 
the  shape  of  an  over-studiousness  of  the  feelings 
of  others,  and  an  apostolical  humility  of  submis- 
sion to  the  religious  censures  of  the  Pope.  Charm- 
ing blights,  to  be  sure,  in  the  character  of  a  Cath- 
olic priest.  The  famous  Lord  Peterborough  said 
of  him,  in  his  lively  manner :  "  He  was  a  delicious 
creature.  I  was  obliged  to  get  away  from  him, 
or  he  would  have  made  me  pious." 

SPENSER  AND  THE  MONTH  OF  AUGUST. 
The  word  August  deserves  to  have  the  accent 
taken  off  the  first  syllable  and  thrown  upon  the 


SPENSER  AND  THE  MONTH  OP  AUGUST.     159 

second  (Aughst),  not  because  the  month  was 
named  after  Augustus  (and  yet  he  had  a  good 
deal  of  poetry  in  him  too,  considering  he  was  a 
man  of  the  world;  his  friend  Virgil  gives  him  even 
a  redeeming  link  with  the  seasons),  but  because 
the  month  is  truly  an  august  month ;  that  is  to 
say,  increasing  in  splendor  till  it  fills  its  orb — 
majestic,  ample,  of  princely  beneficence — clothed 
with  harvest  as  with  a  garment,  full-faced  in 
heaven  with  its  moon. 

Spenser,  in  his  procession  of  the  months,  has 
painted  him  from  a  thick  and  lustrous  palette  : 

"  The  sixt  was  August,  being  rich  arrayed 
In  garment  all  of  gold,  downe  to  the  ground" 

How  true  the  garment  is  made  by  the  familiar 
words  "  all  of  gold  "  !  and  with  what  a  masterly 
feeling  of  power,  luxuriance,  and  music,  the  ac- 
cent is  thrown  on  the  word  "  down  "  !  Let  no- 
body read  a  great  poet's  verses  either  in  a  trivial 
or  affected  manner,  but  with  earnest  yet  deliberate 
love,  dwelling  on  every  beauty  as  he  goes.  And 
pray  let  him  very  much  respect  his  stops  : 

"  In  garment  all  of  gold ;— downe  to  the  ground. 

"  Yet  rode  ho  not,  but  led  a  lovely  maid 
Forth  by  the  lily  hand,  the  which  was  crowned 
With  oars  of  corn ; — and  full  her  hand  was  found." 

Here  is  a  presentation  for  you,  beyond  all  the 
presentations  at  court — August,  in  his  magnifi- 


160  TABLE-TALK. 

cent  drapery  of  cloth  of  gold,  issuing  forth,  and 
presenting  to  earth  and  skies  his  Maiden  with  the 
lily  hand,  the  highest  bred  of  all  the  daughters  of 
Heaven — Justice.  For  so  the  poet  continues  : 

"  That  was  the  righteous  Virgin,  which  of  old 
Liv'd  here  on  earth,  and  plenty  made  abound ; 
But  after  Wrong  was  lov'd,  and  Justice  sold, 
She  left  th'  unrighteous  earth,  and  was  to  heaven  ex- 
toll'd." 

Extolled ;  that  is,  in  the  learned,  literal  sense, 
raised  out  of — taken  away  out  of  a  sphere  un- 
worthy of  her.  Me,  out  of ;  and  tollo,  to  lift. 

Many  of  Spenser's  quaintest  words  are  full  of 
this  learned  beauty,  triumphing  over  the  difficulty 
of  rhyme  ;  nay,  forcing  the  obstacle  to  yield  it  a 
double  measure  of  significance,  as  we  see  in  the 
instance  before  us ;  for  the  praise  given  to  Jus- 
tice is  here  implied,  as  well  as  the  fact  of  her 
apotheosis.  She  is,  by  means  of  one  word,  ex- 
tolled in  the  literal  sense,  that  is  to  say,  raised 
up ;  and  she  is  extolled  in  the  metaphorical  sense, 
which  means,  praised  and  hymned. 

ADVICE. 

The  great  secret  of  giving  advice  successfully 
is  to  mix  up  with  it  something  that  implies  a  real 
consciousness  of  the  adviser's  own  defects,  and  as 
much  as  possible  of  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
other  party's  merits.  Most  advisers  sink  both 


ECLIPSES,  HUMAN  BEIXGS,  ETC.  161 

the  one  and  the  other ;   and  hence  the   failure 
which  they  meet  with,  and  deserve. 

ECLIPSES,  HUM  AX  BEINGS,  AND  THE  LOWER 
CREATION. 

I  once  noticed  a  circumstance  during  an  eclipse 
of  the  sun,  which  afforded  a  striking  instance  of 
the  difference  between  humankind  and  the  lower 
animal  creation.  The  eclipse  was  so  great  (it  was 
in  the  year  1820)  that  night-time  seemed  coming 
on ;  birds  went  to  roost ;  and,  on  its  clearing 
away,  the  cocks  crew  as  if  it  was  morning.  At 
the  height  of  the  darkness,  while  all  the  people  in 
the  neighborhood  were  looking  at  the  sun,  I  cast 
my  eyes  on  some  cattle  in  a  meadow,  and  they 
were  all  as  intently  bent  with  their  faces  to  the 
earth,  feeding.  They  knew  no  more  of  the  sun 
than  if  there  had  been  no  such  thing  in  existence. 

Two  reflections  struck  me  on  this  occasion : 
First,  what  a  comment  it  was  on  the  remarks  of 
Sallust  and  Ovid,  as  to  the  prone  appetites  of 
brutes  (obedientia  ventri)  and  the  heavenward 
privilege  of  'the  eyes  of  man  (ccdum  tueri)  ;  and, 
second  (as  a  corrective  to  the  pride  of  that  reflec- 
tion), how  probable  it  was  that  there  were  things 
within  the  sphere  of  our  own  world  of  which 
humankind  were  as  unaware  as  the  cattle,  for 
want  of  still  finer  perceptions ;  things,  too,  that 
might  settle  worlds  of  mistake  at  a  glance,  and 
11 


162  TABLE-TALK. 

undo   some   of  our  gravest,  perhaps   absurdest, 
conclusions. 

This  second  reflection  comes  to  nothing,  ex- 
cept as  a  lesson  of  modesty.  Not  so  the  fine 
lines  of  the  poet,  which  are  an  endless  pleasure. 
How  grand  they  are  ! — 

"  Pronaque  cum  spectent  animalia  csetera  terrain, 
Os  homini  sublime  dedit,  coelumque  tueri 
Jussit,  et  erectos  ad  sidera  tollere  vultus." 

Even  Dryden's  translation  falls  short,  except  in 
one  epithet  suggested  by  his  creed  : 

"Thus,  while  the  mute  creation  downward  bend 
Their  sight,  and  to  their  earthly  mother  tend, 
Man  looks  aloft,  and  with  erected  eyes 
Beholds  his  own  hereditary  skies." 

This  is  good  ;  and  the  last  line  is  noble,  both  in 
structure  and  idea  ;  but  the  phrase  "  man  looks 
aloft,"  simple  and  strong  as  it  is,  is  not  so  fine  as 
man  gifted  with  the  "  sublime  countenance "  ; 
and  "  hereditary  skies  "  conveys  a  modern  belief 
not  true  to  the  meaning.  The  Pagans,  you  know, 
believed  that  men  went  into  their  heaven  down- 
ward— into  Elysium.  "  The  Maker,"  says  Ovid, 
"  gave  man  a  sublime  countenance  "  (that  is  to  say, 
in  both  senses  of  the  word,  "  elevated  "  ;  for  we 
must  here  take  the  literal  and  metaphorical  mean- 
ing together),  "  and  bade  him  contemplate  the 
sky,  and  lift  his  erected  visage  toward  the  stars" 
Do  not  read,  with  some  editions,  "  ccelumque 


EASTER-DAY  AND  THE  SUN— ENGLISH  POETRY.  163 

videre"  which  means  to  "see,"  and  nothing  more  ; 
but  " ccelumque  tueri"  which  means  to  see  with 
"  intuition  " — with  the  mind. 

EASTER-DAY   AND    THE   SUN,   AND    ENGLISH 
POETKY. 

It  was  once  a  popular  belief,  and  a  very  pretty 
one,  that  the  sun  danced  on  Easter-day.  Suckling 
alludes  to  it  in  his  famous  ballad  : 

"  Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat, 
Like  little  mice  stole  in  and  out, 

As  if  they  feared  the  light ; 
But,  oh !  she  dances  such  a  way, 
No  sun  upon  an  Easter-day 

Is  half  so  fine  a  sight." 

It  is  a  pity  that  we  have,  if  not  more  such  beliefs, 
yet  not  more  such  poetry  to  stand  us  instead  of 
them.  Our  poetry,  like  ourselves,  has  too  little 
animal  spirits.  It  has  plenty  of  thought  and  im- 
agination ;  plenty  of  night-thoughts,  and  day- 
thoughts  too  ;  and  in  its  dramatic  circle  a  world 
of  action  and  character.  It  is  a  poetry  of  the 
highest  order  and  the  greatest  abundance.  But, 
though  not  somber — though  manly,  hearty,  and 
even  luxuriant — it  is  certainly  not  a  very  joyous 
poetry.  And  the  same  may  be  said  of  our  litera- 
ture in  general.  You  do  not  conceive  the  writers 
to  have  been  cheerful  men.  They  often  recom- 
mend cheerfulness,  but  rather  as  a  good  and  sen- 


164  TABLE-TALK. 

sible  practice  than  as  something  which  they  feel 
themselves.  They  have  plenty  of  wit  and  humor, 
but  more  as  satirists  and  observers  than  merry 
fellows.  Addison  was  stiff,  Swift  unhappy,  Chau- 
cer always  looking  on  the  ground. 

The  fault  is  national,  and  therefore  it  may  be 
supposed  that  we  have  no  great  desire  to  mend  it. 
Such  pleasure  as  may  be  wanting  we  take  out  in 
sulks. 

But  at  more  reasonable  moments,  or  over  our 
wine,  when  the  blood  moves  with  a  vivacity  more 
southern,  we  would  fain  see  the  want  supplied — 
fain  have  a  little  more  Farquhar,  and  Steele,  and 
Tristram  Shandy. 

Cast  your  eyes  down  any  list  of  English  writers, 
such,  for  instance,  as  that  at  the  end  of  Mr.  Craik's 
"  History  of  our  Literature,"  and  almost  the  only 
names  that  strike  you  as  belonging  to  personally 
cheerful  men  are  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Suck- 
ling, Fielding,  Farquhar,  Steele,  O'Keef  e,  Andrew 
Marvell,  and  Sterne.  That  Shakespeare  was  cheer- 
ful I  have  no  doubt,  for  he  was  almost  everything ; 
but  still  it  is  not  his  predominant  characteristic, 
which  is  thought.  Sheridan  could  "  set  the  table 
in  a  roar,"  but  it  was  a  flustered  one  at  somebody's 
expense.  His  wit  wanted  good  nature.  Prior  has 
a  smart  air,  like  his  cap  ;  but  he  was  a  rake  who 
became  cynical.  He  wrote  a  poem  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Solomon,  on  the  vanity  of  all  things.  Few 
writers  make  you  laugh  more  than  Peter  Pindar, 


THE  FIVE-POUND  NOTE  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN.   165 

but  there  was  a  spice  of  the  blackguard  in  him. 
You  could  not  be  sure  of  his  truth  or  his  good 
will. 

After  all,  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  cheerful  in 
order  to  give  a  great  deal  of  delight  ;  nor  would 
the  cheerfulest  men  interest  us  as  they  do  if  they 
were  incapable  of  sympathizing  with  melancholy. 
I  am  only  speaking  of  the  rarity  of  a  certain  kind 
of  sunshine  in  our  literature,  and  expressing  a 
natural,  rainy-day  wish  that  we  had  a  little  more 
of  it.  It  ought  to  be  collected.  There  should  be 
a  joyous  set  of  elegant  extracts — a  "  Literatura 
Hilaris  "  or  "  Gaudens  " — in  a  score  of  volumes, 
that  we  could  have  at  hand,  like  a  cellaret  of  good 
wine,  against  April  or  November  weather.  Field- 
ing should  be  the  port,  and  Farquhar  the  cham- 
pagne, and  Sterne  the  malmsey  ;  and  whenever 
the  possessor  cast  an  eye  on  his  stock  he  should 
know  that  he  had  a  choice  draught  for  himself  af- 
ter a  disappointment,  or  for  a  friend  after  dinner — 
some  cordial  extract  of  Parson  Adams,  or  Plume, 
or  Uncle  Toby,  generous  as  heart  could  desire, 
and  as  wholesome  for  it  as  laughter  for  the  lungs. 

THE  FIVE-POUND  NOTE  AND  THE  GENTLE- 
MAN. 

It  is  a  curious  evidence  of  the  meeting  of  ex- 
tremes, and  of  the  all-searching  eyes  of  those  tre- 
mendous luminaries  the  daily  papers,  that  a  man 


166  TABLE-TALK. 

nowadays  can  not  commit  the  shabbiest  action  in 
a  corner,  or  hug  himself  never  so  much  upon  his 
cunning  and  privacy,  but  the  next  morning  he 
shall  stand  a  good  chance  of  having  it  blazoned 
to  the  world.  An  instance  occurred  the  other 
day.  The  porter  of  a  house  in  Conduit  Street 
picked  up  a  five-pound  note.  A  gentleman  met 
him,  who  asked  if  he  had  seen  such  a  thing.  He 
said  he  had,  gave  it  up,  and  was  thanked  with  "  a 
nod."  The  gentleman,  retracing  his  steps,  was 
accompanied  awhile  by  the  porter  ;  and  the  latter, 
mustering  up  his  courage,  inquired  if  he  did  not 
think  the  circumstance  worth  a  pot  of  beer.  The 
gentleman  (for  this,  his  title,  is  judiciously  re- 
peated by  the  newspaper)  made  no  other  reply 
than  by  walking  off  to  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
"  evidently  satisfied,"  says  the  account,  "  that  he 
was  nothing  out  of  pocket  by  losing  his  five-pound 
note." 

I|  this  man  did  not  see  the  porter  pick  up  the 
note,  he  is  one  of  the  shabbiest  fellows  on  record  ; 
and  if  he  did,  he  might  as  well  have  given  him 
something  in  the  gayety  of  his  heart,  if  only  by 
way  of  showing  that  all  was  right  on  both  sides. 

But  was  he  able  to  give  anything  ?  Could  he 
find  it  in  his  heart  to  disburse  the  f  ourpence  ? 
Was  it  within  the  compass  of  his  volition  ?  For, 
after  one's  first  feeling  of  disgust,  a  poor  devil 
like  this,  who  can  not  say  his  groat's  his  own,  has 
a  right  to  a  humane  consideration.  People  are 


THE  FIVE-POUND  NOTE  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN.    167 

apt  to  imagine  that  anybody  who  has  fourpence 
to  spare,  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  put  his  hand  in 
his  pocket  and  give  it. 

13.  So  he  can,  if  he  chooses. 

A.  Ay  ;  but  he  can't  choose. 

J3.  Carft  choose  ;  oh,  that  is  a  phrase.  You 
don't  mean  to  say  it  literally  ? 

A.  Yes,  I  do.  He  is  literally  unable  to  choose. 
He  can  not  choose  if  he  would.  The  assertion  is 
odd,  and  seems  not  very  provable  ;  but  it  may  be 
illustrated,  and  proved  too,  I  think,  in  a  manner 
easy  enough.  Suppose  a  man  has  a  paralysis  of 
the  arm,  and  can  not  lift  it  ?  You  request  him  to 
lift  it ;  but  he  can  not  do  so.  He  is  physically 
unable.  Morally,  he  wishes  to  do  it ;  he  would 
choose  it ;  he  thinks  himself  a  poor  creature  for 
the  inability ;  but  the  act  is  out  of  his  power. 
Now,  there  are  cases  in  which  the  moral  power  is 
in  a  like  miserable  condition.  Victims  of  opium 
have  been  known  to  be  unable  to  will  themselves 
out  of  the  chair  in  which  they  were  sitting  ;  and 
victims  of  miserliness,  in  like  manner,  may  be  un- 
able to  will  a  penny  out  of  their  pockets.  Their 
volition  has  a  paralysis  ;  and  they  can  no  more 
stir  a  finger  of  it  than  your  man  with  the  para- 
lytic arm. 

PAISIELLO. 

Paisiello  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  melo- 
dists in  the  world,  as  the  airs  of  "  La  Rachelina  " 


168  TABLE-TALK. 

and  "  lo  sono  Lindoro "  would  be  sufficient  to 
testify,  if  he  had  left  us  none  of  all  his  others. 
Those  two  are  well  known  to  the  English  public 
under  the  titles  of  "  Whither,  my  Love,"  and 
"  For  Tenderness  formed."  But  they  who  wish 
to  know  how  far  a  few  single  notes  can  go  in 
reaching  the  depths  of  the  heart,  should  hear  the 
song  of  poor  Nina,  "  II  mio  ben,"  in  the  opera  of 
"  Nina  pazza  per  Amore."  The  truth  and  beauty 
of  passion  can  not  go  further. 

I  admire  the  rich  accompaniments  of  the  Ger- 
mans ;  but  more  accompaniment  than  the  author 
has  given  to  that  song  would  be  like  hanging  an 
embroidered  robe  on  the  shoulders  of  Ophelia. 

CARDINAL  ALBEKONI. 

-  Alberoni  was  the  son  of  a  gardener,  and  lived 
to  the  age  of  eighty-seven,  sound  in  his  faculties 
to  the  last.  He  said  a  thing  remarkable  for  its 
address  and  fine  taste  ;  nobler,  indeed,  than  he 
was  probably  aware  of  ;  and  a  lesson  of  the  very 
highest  theosophy.  He  was  a  man  of  vehement 
temper,  as  well  as  open  discourse,  and  told  a  boy 
one  day,  who  said  he  feared  something,  that  he 
should  "  fear  nothing,  not  even  God  himself." 

The  company  looking  shocked  and  astonished 
to  hear  such  words  from  the  mouth  of  a  cardinal, 
Alberoni  added,  with  a  meek  air  and  a  softened 
voice,  "For  we  are  to  feel  nothing  toward  the 
good  God  but  love." 


SIR  WILLIAM  PETTY  THE  STATIST,  ETC.    169 

SIR   WILLIAM   PETTY   THE   STATIST   AND  ME- 
CHANICAL  PHILOSOPHER. 

Sir  William  Petty  was  the  son  of  a  clothier, 
and  was  founder  of  the  wealth,  perhaps  of  the 
talent,  of  the  Lansdowne  family,  who  bear  his 
name — their  ancestor,  the  Earl  of  Kerry,  having 
married  his  daughter.  Sir  William  was  a  sort  of 
Admirable  Crichton  in  money-making  ;  and  he 
left  a  curious  account  of  his  accomplishments  that 
way.  Aubrey,  who  knew  him,  says  that  he  had  at 
one  time  been  a  shop-boy  ;  and  that  while  he  was 
studying  physic  at  Paris  he  was  driven  to  such 
straits  for  a  subsistence  that  "  he  lived  a  week  or 
two  on  threepenny  worth  of  walnuts." 

Sir  William  was  a  physician,  a  surveyor,  a 
member  of  Parliament,  a  timber-merchant,  a  po- 
litical writer,  a  speculator  in  iron-works,  fisheries, 
and  lead-mines  ;  and  he  wrote  Latin  verses,  and 
was  an  active  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society.  But 
for  the  particulars  of  his  money-getting  see  his 
will,  which  is  a  curious  specimen  of  a  man  of  his 
sort,  not  always  such  a  perfection  of  human  wis- 
dom as  he  seems  to  have  supposed,  but  admirable 
for  ingenuity  and  perseverance.  He  also  appears 
to  have  been  a  wag  and  a  buffoon  !  He  "  will 
preach  extempore  incomparably,"  says  Aubrey, 
"  either  in  the  Presbyterian  way,  Independent, 
Capuchin  friar,  or  Jesuit." 

The  same  writer  tells  a  pleasant  story  of  him  : 


170  TABLE-TALK. 

"Sir  Thirom  Sankey,  one* of  Oliver  Cromwell's 
knights,  challenged  Petty  to  fight  with  him.  Pet- 
ty was  extremely  short-sighted,  and,  being  the 
challengee,  it  belonged  to  him  to  nominate  place 
and  weapon.  He  nominated,  accordingly,  a  dark 
cellar  and  a  carpenter's  axe.  This,"  says  Aubrey, 
"  turned  the  knight's  challenge  into  ridicule,  and 
it  came  to  naught." 

NAME   OF  LINSLEUS. 

Linnseus's  father  was  a  clergyman,  of  a  family 
of  peasants.  The  customs  of  Sweden  were  so 
primitive  at  that  time  that  people  under  the  rank 
of  nobility  had  no  surnames  ;  and,  by  a  sort  of 
prophetic  inclination,  the  family  of  Linnceus  had 
designated  themselves  from  a  favorite  linden  or 
lime-tree,  which  grew  near  their  abode  ;  so  that 
Carl  von  Linne  meant  Charles  of  the  Lime-tree. 
The  lime  was  not  unworthy  of  being  his  godfa- 
ther. 

JOHN  BUNGLE  (THE  HERO  OF  THE  BOOK  SO 
CALLED). 

Buncle  is  a  most  strange  mixture  of  vehement 
Unitarianism  in  faith,  liberality  in  ordinary  judg- 
ment, and  jovial  selfishness  in  practice.  He  is  a 
liberal,  bigoted,  whimsical,  lawful  sensualist.  A 
series  of  good  fortunes  of  a  very  peculiar  descrip- 
tion (that  is  to  say,  the  loss  of  seven  wives  in  sue- 


POUSSIN.  171 

cession  !)  enables  him  to  be  a  kind  of  innocent 
Henry  VIII.  He  argues  a  lady  into  the  sacred 
condition  of  marriage,  spends  a  delightful  season 
with  her,  she  dies  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  and 
he  tries  as  hard  as  he  can  to  grieve  for  a  while,  in 
order  that  he  may  justify  himself  all  the  sooner 
in  taking  another.  This  is  the  regular  process  for 
the  whole  seven  !  With  amazing  animal  spirits, 
iron  strength,  little  imagination,  and  a  relishing 
gusto,  he  is  an  amusing  and  lively  narrator,  with- 
out interesting  our  sympathy  in  the  least,  except 
in  the  relish  with  which  he  eats,  drinks,  and  makes 
matrimony.* 

POUSSIN. 

Poussin,  like  Corneille,  was  a  Norman.  The 
addition  of  the  earnest  and  grave  character  of 
the  Normans  to  the  general  French  vivacicy  ren- 
dered him  one  of  the  great  names  in  art,  fit  to  be 
mentioned  with  those  of  Italy.  He  had  learning, 
luxuriousness,  and  sentiment,  and  gave  himself  up 
to  each,  as  his  subject  inclined  him,  though  never 
perhaps  without  a  strong  consciousness  of  the  art 
as  well  as  the  nature  of  what  he  had  to  do.  His 
historical  performances  are  his  driest ;  his  poetical 
subjects  full  of  gusto  ;  his  landscapes  remote, 
meditative,  and  often  with  a  fine  darkness  in 
them,  as  if  his  trees  were  older  than  any  other 

*  The  reader  can  see,  if  he  pleases,  more  about  this  extraor- 
dinary person  in  the  "  Book  for  a  Corner." 


172  TABLE-TALK. 

painter's.  Shade  is  upon  them,  as  light  is  upon 
Claude's. 

Poussin  was  a  genuine  enthusiast,  to  whom  his 
art  was  his  wealth,  whether  it  made  him  rich  or 
not.  He  got  as  much  money  as  he  wanted,  and 
would  not  hurry  and  degrade  his  genius  to  get 
more. 

A  pleasant  anecdote  is  related  of  him,  at  a 
time  when  he  must  have  been  in  very  moderate 
circumstances.  He  spent  the  greatest  part  of  his 
life  at  Rome,  and  Bishop  (afterward  Cardinal) 
Mancini  being  attended  by  him  one  evening  to 
the  door,  for  want  of  a  servant,  the  Bishop  said, 
"  I  pity  you,  Monsieur  Poussin,  for  having  no  ser- 
vant." "And  I  pity  your  lordship,"  said  the 
painter,  "  for  having  so  many." 

The  Bishop,  by  the  way,  must  have  been  a 
very  ill-bred  or  stupid  man,  to  make  such  a  re- 
mark. Fancy  how  beautifully  Bishop  Rundle,  or 
B^keley,  or  Thirlwall  would  not  have  said  it  ! 
What  respect  they  would  have  contrived  to  show 
to  the  non-possessor  of  the  servant,  without  in  the 
smallest  degree  alluding  to  the  non-possession  ! 

Was  there  no  Roman  Duke  of  Devonshire  in 
those  days,  to  teach  men  of  quality  how  to  be- 
have? 

PRIOR. 

Prior  wrote  one  truly  loving  verse,  if  no  other. 
It  is  in  his  "  Solomon."  The  monarch  is  speaking 


BURKE  AND  PAINE.  173 

of  a  female  slave,  who  had  a  real  affection  for 
him  : 

"  And  when  I  called  another,  Abra  came" 

BURKE  AND  PAINE. 

Paine  had  not  the  refinements  which  a  nice 
education  and  a  lively  fancy  had  given  to  Burke. 
He  could  not  discern,  as  his  celebrated  antagonist 
did,  "  the  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil " — a  no- 
ble faculty,  when  evil  is  to  be  made  the  best  of. 
But  the  other's  refinements,  actuated  by  his  van- 
ity, led  him  to  uphold  the  evil  itself,  because  he 
could  talk  finely  about  it,  and  because  others  had 
undertaken  to  put  it  down  without  his  leave. 
Self -reference  and  personal  importance  are  at  the 
bottom  of  everything  that  men  do,  when  they  do 
not  show  themselves  ready  to  make  sacrifices  to 
the  public  good.  If  the  vanity  still  remains  the 
same  in  many,  even  when  they  do,  it  may  be  par- 
doned them  as  an  infirmity  which  does  not  inter- 
fere with  their  usefulness.  Burke  began  with 
being  a  reformer,  and  remained  one  as  long  as  he 
drew  attention  to  himself  by  it,  and  could  com- 
mand the  respect  of  the  "gentilities"  among 
which  he  moved.  When  he  saw,  in  contradiction 
to  his  prophecies,  that  the  reform  was  to  move  in 
a  wider  sphere,  and  that  he  and  his  gentilities 
were  not  necessary  to  it,  he  was  offended  ;  turned 
right  round  to  the  opposite  side  ;  and  wrote  a 


174  TABLE-TALK. 

book  which  George  III.  said  every  gentleman 
ought  to  read.  "  There  was  a  time,"  says  Paine, 
"  when  it  was  impossible  to  make  Mr.  Burke  be- 
lieve there  would  be  any  revolution  in  France. 
His  opinion  then  was,  that  the  French  had  neither 
spirit  to  undertake  nor  fortitude  to  support  it ; 
and  now  that  there  is  one,  he  seeks  an  escape  by 
condemning  it." 

The  first  French  Revolution  was  defaced  by 
those  actions  of  popular  violence  which  were  the 
result  of  a  madness  caused  by  the  madness  of  the 
aristocracy.  The  foolish  system  of  hostility  to 
France  in  which  Englishmen  suffered  themselves 
to  be  brought  up  by  those  who  thought  themselves 
interested  in  preserving  it,  easily  allowed  them  to 
confound  the  evil  with  the  good,  and  consequent- 
ly to  think  ill  of  its  advocates.  Paine,  therefore, 
was  thought  to  write  on  a  vulgar  and  pernicious 
side,  while  Burke  had  all  the  e"clat  of  the  gentili- 
ties^ 

The  most  vulgar  thing  which  Paine  did  was 
to  deny  the  utility  of  a  knowledge  of  the  dead 
languages.  He  had  none  himself  ;  and  he  saw  the 
knowledge  often  vaunted  by  men  who,  having 
nothing  else  to  boast  of,  possessed  of  course  (in 
the  proper  sense  of  the  word)  not  even  that.  He 
paid  these  men  the  involuntary  compliment  of 
showing  them  that  his  ignorance  of  the  matter 
and  theirs  were  pretty  much  on  a  par  ;  and  as 
they  exalted  what  they  did  not  understand,  he 


RUSSIAN- HORN   BAND.  175 

decried  what  he  was  ignorant  of.  It  was  a  piece 
of  inverted  aristocracy  in  him — a  privilege  of  non- 
possession. 

THE  DUTCH  AT  THE  CAPE. 

It  is  amusing  to  read  of  the  ponderous  indolence 
and  cow-like  ruminations  of  the  Dutch  settlers  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  What  an  admirable 
word  for  them  is  "  Settlers  "  ! 

Madame  de  Stael  has  given  a  ludicrous  picture 
of  the  stiffness  and  formality  of  an  English  tea- 
table.  Now,  a  Dutch  tea-table  is  an  English  one 
cast  in  lead. 

RUSSIAN-HORN  BAND. 

This,  to  be  sure,  is  sounding  the  very  "bass- 
note  of  humility."  A  man  converted  into  a  crotch- 
et !  An  A  flat  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age  ! 
A  fellow  creature  of  Alfred  and  Epaminondas, 
who  has  passed  his  life  in  acting  a  semitone  !  in 
waiting  for  his  turn  to  exist,  and  then  seizing  the 
desperate  instant,  and  being  a  puff  !  * 

*  "  The  Russian-horn  music  "  (says  an  authority  whose 
name  I  have  forgotten)  "  was  invented  by  Prince  Gallitzin,  in 
1762.  This  instrument  consists  of  forty  persons,  whose  life  is 
spent  in  blowing  one  note.  The  sounds  produced  are  precisely 
similar  to  those  of  an  immense  organ,  with  this  difference,  that 
each  note  seems  to  blend  with  its  preceding  and  following  one 
— a  circumstance  which  causes  a  blunt  sensation  to  tho  ear, 
and  gives  a  monotony  to  the  whole.  However,  the  effect  pos- 


176  TABLE-TALK. 

DOGS  AND  THEIR  MASTERS. 

Mr.  Jesse,  in  his  "Anecdotes  of  Dogs,"  takes 
pains  to  prove  that  the  dog  is  a  better  man  than 
himself  ;  but,  love  dogs  as  we  may,  we  must  not 
blaspheme  their  master.  Dogs  have  admirable 
qualities.  They  possess,  in  particular,  a  most 
affecting  and  superabundant  measure  of  attach- 
ment, of  lovingness  for  their  human  companion — 
singular  as  regards  the  differences  of  the  two  be- 
ings, and  wonderfully  and  beautifully  superior  to 

sesses  much  sublimity  when  the  performers  are  unseen  ;  but, 
when  they  are  visible,  it  is  impossible  to  silence  reflections 
which  jar  with  their  harmony.  To  see  human  nature  reduced 
to  such  a  use  calls  up  thoughts  very  inimical  to  our  admiration 
of  strains  so  awakened.  I  inquired  who  the  instrument  be- 
longed to  (by  that  word  both  pipes  and  men  are  included),  and 
was  told  it  had  just  been  purchased  by  a  nobleman,  on  the  re- 
cent death  of  its  possessor.  [They  were  serfs.] 

"  The  band  consists  of  twenty-five  individuals,  who  play 
upon  about  fifty-five  horns,  all  formed  of  brass  of  a  conical 
shape,  with  the  mouthpiece  bent :  the  lowest  of  these  horns  is 
eight  feet  long  and  nine  inches  in  diameter  at  the  larger  end, 
and  sounds  double  A;  the  highest,  which  sounds  E,  is  two 
inches  and  a  half  long,  by  one  in  diameter.  Some  of  the 
horns,  but  not  all,  have  keys  for  one  or  two  semitones.  When 
playing,  the  band  is  drawn  up  four  deep,  the  trebles  in  front, 
and  the  very  low  horns  laid  on  trestles  at  the  back,  so  that  the 
performer  can  raise  the  mouthpiece  with  ease,  while  the  other 
end  rests  on  the  frame  ;  one  man  plays  the  three  lowest  horns, 
blowing  them  in  turns  as  they  are  wanted.  Not  the  least  cu- 
rious portion  of  this  machinery  is  the  conductor,  who,  with  the 
score  before  him  on  a  desk,  stands  fronting  his  troops  at  what 


DOGS  AND  THEIR  MASTERS.  177 

the  common  notions  of  self-interest :  for,  as  Mr. 
Jesse's  book  shows,  they  are  capable  of  quite  as 
much  attachment  to  the  poorest  as  to  the  richest 
man,  and,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  hard-working 
and  painful  existence,  will  think  themselves  amply 
repaid  by  a  crust  and  a  caress.  Delightful,  ad- 
mirable, noble,  is  the  loving,  hard-working,  un- 
bribable,  martyr-spirited  creature  called  the  dog  ; 
who  will  die  rather  than  desert  his  master  under 
the  most  trying  circumstances  ;  who  often  does 
die,  and  (so  to  speak)  breaks  his  heart  for  him, 
refusing  to  forsake  his  dead  body  or  his  grave. 

soldiers  would  call  the  left  flank  of  the  company,  and  con- 
tinues during  the  whole  performance  to  beat  the  time  audibly 
by  tapping  a  little  stick  or  cane  on  his  desk.  And  this  time 
he  beats,  not  according  to  the  equal  divisions  in  a  bar,  but  the 
number  and  quality  of  notes  therein :  thus,  for  a  bar  of  three- 
fourth  time,  containing  one  crotchet  followed  by  four  quavers, 
he  makes  five  taps,  the  last  four  twice  as  rapid  as  the  first. 

"  When  the  performance  began,  notwithstanding  all  we  had 
read,  although  we  knew  that  each  demisemiquaver  of  a  rapid 
octave  must  be  breathed  by  a  separate  individual,  we  were 
astonished  at  the  unity  of  effect  and  correctness  of  time ;  and 
this  feeling  continued  undiminished  to  the  end.  But  to  this 
our  pleasure  and  approbation  were  confined,  and,  all  moral 
considerations  apart,  we  soon  began  to  feel  regret  and  pain 
that  so  much  labor  should  have  been  bestowed  on  forming 
what  may,  probably,  be  a  very  first-rate  band  of  Russian  horns, 
but  what  is  certainly  a  very  second-rate  band  of  wind-instru- 
ments. There  is  no  expression,  no  coloring  in  the  perform- 
ance ;  and,  though  the  tone  produced  by  the  bass  horns  is  ex- 
tremely fine  and  powerful,  and  the  tenors  are  soft  and  mellow, 
the  trebles  are  shrill,  and  very  frequently  sadly  out  of  tune." 
12 


178  TABLE-TALK. 

But  still  he  must  not  be  compared  with  the 
equally  loving,  more  tried,  and  more  awful  crea- 
ture called  Man,  with  his  conflicting  thoughts,  his 
greater  temptations,  his  "  looking  before  and  af- 
ter "  ;  his  subjection,  by  reason  of  his  very  supe- 
riority, to  the  most  distressing  doubts,  fears,  dis- 
tracting interests,  manifold  ties,  impressions  of 
this  world  and  the  next — imaginations,  consciences, 
responsibilities,  tears.  Between  the  noblest  and 
most  affectionate  dog  that  dies  out  of  a  habit  of 
love  for  his  master,  and  the  many-thoughted, 
many-hearted  human  being,  who,  loving  existence 
and  his  family,  can  yet  voluntarily  face  the  gulf 
of  futurity  for  some  noble  purpose,  there  is  as 
much  difference  as  between  a  thoughtless  impulse 
and  a  motive  burdened  with  the  greatest  draw- 
backs. 

Thus  much  for  the  idle  sentences  quoted  from 
Monsieur  Blaze,  Lord  Byron,  and  others,  about 
the^superiority  of  dogs  to  men  ;  things  written  in 
moments  of  spleen  or  ill  will,  contradicted  by 
the  writers  in  other  passages,  and  thoughtlessly 
echoed,  out  of  partiality  to  his  subject,  by  kindly 
Mr.  Jesse. 

BODY  AND  MIND. 

Pascal,  in  spite  of  his  wisdom,  was  a  victim  to 
hypochondria  and  superstition.  He  was  an  ad- 
mirable mathematician,  reasoner,  wit,  and  a  most 
excellent  man ;  and  yet,  notwithstanding  this 


WANT  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  THE  COMFORTABLE.  179 

union  of  the  most  solid  and  brilliant  qualities,  a 
wretched  constitution  sometimes  reduced  him  to 
a  state  which  idiots  might  have  pitied.  As  if  his 
body  had  not  been  ill-treated  enough,  he  wore  an 
iron  girdle  with  points  on  it  next  his  skin  ;  and 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  striking  this  girdle  with 
his  elbow,  when  a  thought  which  he  regarded  as 
sinful  or  vain  came  across  him.  During  his  lat- 
ter days  he  imagined  that  he  saw  an  abyss  by  the 
side  of  his  chair,  and  that  he  was  in  danger  of 
falling  into  it.  How  modest  it  becomes  the  ablest 
men  to  be,  and  thankful  for  a  healthier  state  of 
blood,  when  they  see  one  of  the  greatest  of  minds 
thus  miserably  treated  by  the  case  it  lived  in  ! 

WANT  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  THE  COMFORT- 
ABLE. 

People  in  general  have  too  little  imagination, 
and  habit  does  not  tend  to  improve  it.  The  com- 
fort, therefore,  which  they  have  derived  ever  since 
they  were  born  from  sustenance  and  warmth,  they 
come  to  identify  with  the  habitual  feelings  of 
everybody;  and,  though  they  read  in  the  news- 
papers of  the  want  of  bread  and  fuel  among  the 
poor,  it  is  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  and  by  a 
violent  forcing  of  the  reflection,  that  they  can 
draw  a  distinction  between  the  sensations  of  the 
poor  man's  flesh  and  stomach  and  those  of  their 
own.  Hunger  with  themselves  is  brief  ;  they  can 


180  TABLE-TALK. 

soon  satisfy  it.  Cold  is  brief  :  they  can  go  to  the 
fire.  They  become  unable  to  sympathize  with  the 
continuous  operation  of  want.  They  think  the 
poor  man  talks  about  cold  and  hunger,  and  that 
there  must  be  some  reason  in  it,  inasmuch  as  he 
looks  ill ;  for  they  can  picture  to  their  imagina- 
tions a  care-worn  face,  since  they  see  so  many 
about  them,  where  the  hands  are  warm  and  the 
stomachs  well  fed.  But  still,  as  their  own  hands 
are  in  the  habit  of  being  warm,  and  their  stomachs 
comfortable,  or  at  any  rate  uncomfortable  with 
fullness,  they  have  no  abiding  conception  of  hands 
cold  for  a  whole  day,  or  of  an  habitual  craving 
for  food. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  it  would  be  desira- 
ble for  people  to  be  over-sensitive  on  these  points; 
otherwise  the  distress  of  half  a  dozen  of  human  be- 
ings would  be  sufficient  to  discomfort  the  whole 
globe.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  martyrs  to  re- 
form and  imagination  will  have  suffered  enough 
eventually  to  secure  the  infinite  preponderance 
of  good  in  this  world.  But,  meanwhile,  its  ad- 
vance is  the  slower  for  it,  and  the  apathy  of  the 
excessively  comfortable  sometimes  not  a  little  pro- 
voking. 

Take  one  of  the  clergymen,  for  instance,  who 
have  been  writing  addresses  of  late  to  the  poor, 
to  advise  them  to  bear  hunger  and  cold  with  pa- 
tience. One  of  these  gentlemen  sits  down  to  his 
writing-table,  with  his  feet  on  a  rug,  before  a 


WANT  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  THE  COMFORTABLE.  181 

good  fire,  after  an  excellent  breakfast,  to  recom- 
mend to  others  the  endurance  of  evils,  the  least 
part  of  which  would  rouse  him  into  a  remonstrance 
with  his  cook  or  his  coal-merchant,  perhaps  de- 
stroy his  temper,  and  put  him  in  a  state  of  un- 
Christian  folly.  "  Bless  me  !  "  cries  he,  looking 
about  him,  if  there  is  the  least  bit  of  a  "  crick  " 
in  the  window,  "  how  intolerably  cold  it  is  this 
morning  !  "  and  he  rises  from  his  chair,  and  not 
without  indignation  closes  the  intolerable  window 
which  the  servant  had  so  "  shamefully  neglected." 
His  dinner  is  not  ready  when  he  returns  from  his 
ride.  "  'Tis  very  shameful  of  the  cook,"  quoth  he; 
"  I  have  eaten  nothing  to  signify  since  breakfast, 
and  am  ready  to  sink."  The  dinner  is  brought  in 
with  all  trepidation,  and  he  does  sink — that  is  to 
say,  into  an  easy-chair;  and  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  sink 
into  him.  Little  does  he  think,  and  less  does  he 
endeavor  to  think  (for  the  thought  is  not  a  com- 
fortable one),  that  the  men  to  whom  he  wrote 
his  address  in  the  morning  are  in  the  habit  of  feel- 
ing this  sinking  sensation  from  morning  till  night, 
and  of  seeing  their  little  crying  children  suffering 
from  a  distress  which  they  know  to  be  so  wretched. 
Many  of  these  poor  people  sink  into  the  grave  ; 
and  the  comfortable  clergyman  thinks  it  much  if 
he  gets  into  his  carriage,  or  puts  his  warm  great- 
coat and  handkerchief  round  his  portly  neck,  and 
goes  to  smooth  the  poor  man's  passage  to  that 
better  world  which  he  himself  will  keep  aloof 


182  TABLE-TALK. 

from    as   long   as  port   and   pheasant   can   help 
him. 

"  What  riches  give  us,  let  us  then  inquire : 
Meat,  fire,  and  clothes.     What  more  ?     Meat,  clothes, 
and  fire." 

These  are  the  three  great  necessaries  of  life, 
meaning  by  meat,  food.  After  a  few  lines  to 
show  the  insufficiency  of  superfluities  for  render- 
ing bad  men  happy,  the  poet  says  of  these  super- 
fluities : 

"  Perhaps  you  think  the  poor  might  have  their  part. 
Bond  damns  the  poor,  and  hates  them  from  his  heart. 
The  grave  Sir  Gilbert  holds  it  for  a  rule, 
That  every  man  in  want  is  knave  or  fool. 

"  '  God  can  not  love  (says  Blunt,  with  tearless  eyes) 
The  wretch  he  starves ' — and  piously  denies. 
But  the  good  Bishop,  with  a  meeker  air, 
Admits,  and  leaves  them.  Providence's  care." 


THE  SINGING  MAN  KEPT  BY  THE  BIRDS. 

Want  of  Imagination  plays  strange  tricks  with 
most  people.  I  will  tell  you  a  fable. 

A  traveler  came  into  an  unknown  country 
where  the  people  were  more  like  birds  than  men, 
and  twice  as  tall  as  the  largest  ostriches.  They 
had  beaks  and  wings,  and  lived  in  gigantic  nests, 
upon  trees  of  a  proportionate  size.  The  traveler, 
who  was  unfortunately  a  capital  singer,  happened 


tol 
>10 


THE  SINGING  MAN  KEPT  BY  THE  BIRDS.    183 


to  be  indulging  in  one  of  his  favorite  songs,  when 
he  was  overheard  by  a  party  of  this  monstrous 
people,  who  caught  him  and  carried  him  home. 
Here  he  led  such  a  life  as  made  him  a  thousand 
times  wish  for  death.  The  bird  family  did  not 
seem  to  be  cruel  to  one  another,  or  even  inten- 
tionally so  to  him  ;  for  they  soon  found  out  what 
he  liked  to  eat,  and  gave  him  plenty  of  it.  They 
also  flattened  him  a  corner  of  the  nest  for  a  bed  ; 
and  were  very  particular  in  keeping  out  of  his 
way  a  pet  tiger  which  threw  him  into  the  most 
dreadful  agitations.  But  in  all  other  respects, 
whether  out  of  cruelty  or  fondness,  or  want  of 
thought,  they  teased  him  to  death.  His  habita- 
tion, at  best,  was  totally  unfit  for  him.  His 
health  depended  upon  exercise,  particularly  as 
he  was  a  traveler  ;  but  he  could  not  take  any  in 
the  nest,  because  it  was  hollow  like  a  basin  ;  and, 
had  he  attempted  to  step  out  of  it,  he  would  have 
broken  his  neck.  Sometimes  they  would  handle 
him  in  their  great  claws,  till  his  heart  beat  as  if  it 
would  come  through  his  ribs.  Sometimes  they 
kissed  and  fondled  him  with  their  horrid  beaks. 
Sometimes  they  pulled  his  nose  this  way  and  that, 
till  he  gaped  and  cried  out  for  anguish  ;  upon 
which  they  would  grin  from  ear  to  ear,  and  stroke 
back  his  head,  till  the  hairs  came  out  by  the 
roots.  If  he  did  not  sing,  they  would  pull  his 
arms  about,  and  cruelly  spread  out  his  fingers,  as 
if  to  discover  what  was  the  matter  with  him  ;  and, 


184  TABLE-TALK. 

when  he  did  sing  to  beguile  his  sorrows,  he  had 
the  mortification  of  finding  that  they  looked  upon 
it  as  a  mark  of  his  contentment  and  happiness. 
They  would  sing  themselves  (for  some  of  them 
were  pretty  good  singing-birds  for  so  coarse  a 
species),  to  challenge  him,  as  it  were,  to  new  ef- 
forts. At  length  our  poor  traveler  fell  sick  of  a 
mortal  distemper,  the  termination  of  which  was 
luckily  hastened  by  the  modes  they  took  to  cure 
it.  "  Wretch  that  I  am ! "  cried  he,  in  his  last 
moments,  "I  used  to  think  it  unmanly  to  care 
about  keeping  a  goldfinch,  or  even  a  lark  ;  but  all 
my  manliness,  in  a  like  situation,  can  not  prevent 
me  from  dying  of  torture." 

A  STKAlsTGE  HEAVEN. 

I  have  often  thought  (don't  be  frightened) 
that  if  any  one  set  of  men  ought  to  go  to  heaven 
more  than  another,  it's  rascals  !  Consider  what 
fools  the  poor  fellows  are  ;  what  frights  they  un- 
dergo ;  what  infamy  they  get ;  what  ends  they 
often  come  to  ;  and,  in  most  cases,  what  "  births, 
parentages,  and  educations  "  they  must  have  had. 
Or,  if  their  anxieties  have  not  been  in  proportion 
to  their  rascality,  then  consider  what  it  is  to  want 
the  feelings  of  other  men  ;  what  bad  pleasures  it 
betrays  them  into,  and  of  what  good  ones  it 
deprives  them.  Think  of  those  miserable  dogs 
among  them  who  have  never  even  succeeded  as 
rascals.  Fancy  Dick  Dreary  in  his  old  age,  tooth- 


A  STRANGE  HEAVEN.  185 

[less,  despised,  diseased,  dejected,  conscious  that  lie 
|]ias  been  all  in  the  wrong,  and  unable  to  pay  for  a 
jbit  of  fire  in  the  winter  to  comfort  his  petty- 
ilarceny  fingers.  Is  he  to  have  nothing  for  all 
j  ;his  ?  Oh,  depend  upon  it  that,  if  he  has  not  had 
.t  already,  of  some  unaccountable  sort  or  other 
(which  brings  matters  round),  your  rascal  must 
3ome  right  somehow. 

J3.  Theologians  have  various  ways  for  settling 
that. 

A.  Yes,  but  not  for  all ;  and  positively  one 
single  poor  devil  must  not  be  omitted — no,  not 
even  though  he  be  a  Calvinist  or  an  Inquisitor. 
Heavenly  notions  of  justice  are  not  to  be  at  the 
mercy  of  the  most  infernal  stupidity  of  mind. 
If  I  were  a  preacher,  my  doctrines  would  not  go 
to  flatter  the  poor  dogs  into  crime  with  notions  of 
certain  kinds  of  absolution,  which  in  that  case  it 
would  be  doubly  infernal  to  refuse  them.  I  should 
treat  them  as  the  fools  which  no  men  like  to  be 
called  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  as  the  pitiable  fools 
which  such  men  undoubtedly  are. 

Grave  Gentleman.  But  a  positive  heaven  for 
rascals  ! 

A.  (laughing).  Oh,  oh,  verbum  sat.  Dante 
has  heavens  for  his  rascals — heavens  even  for  the 
Emperor  Constantine  and  the  slayer  of  the  Albi- 
genses.  Why  mayn't  we  find  a  little  blushing 
corner  or  so  for  Muggins,  and  Father  Rack,  and 
poor  Dick  Dreary  ? 


18G  TABLE-TALK. 

STANDING  GODFATHER. 

To  stand  godfather  is,  I  know,  reckoned  a  very 
trifling  ceremony  :  people  ask  it  of  others,  either 
to  gratify  their  own  vanity  or  that  of  the  person 
asked  ;  they  think  nothing  of  the  Heaven  they 
are  about  to  invoke.  It  is  looked  upon  as  a  mere 
gossiping  entertainment  :  a  few  child's  squalls,  a 
few  mumbled  amens,  and  a  few  mumbled  cakes, 
and  a  few  smirks  accompanied  by  a  few  fees,  and 
it  is  all  over.  The  character  and  the  peculiar  faith 
of  the  promisers  have  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  the 
child's  interest  has  nothing  to  do  with  it  :  the 
person  most  benefited  is  the  parson,  who  is  think- 
ing all  the  time  what  sort  of  a  present  he  shall 
get.  Now,  observe  what  I  must  do,  should  I  un- 
dertake to  be  a  godfather.  I  must  come  into  the 
presence  of  God — a  presence  not  to  be  slighted 
though  in  a  private  room — to  worship  Him  with 
a  falsehood  in  my  mouth  :  that  is,  to  make  Him 
a  profession  of  faith  which  I  do  not  understand. 
I  must  then  promise  Him  to  teach  the  child  this 
very  faith  which  I  do  not  understand,  and  to 
guard  her  youth  from  evil  ways  ;  when  it  is  very 
probable  I  shall  never  be  with  her  or  see  her,  and 
most  likely,  if  I  did  see  her,  I  should  get  my  head 
broken  by  her  relations  for  giving  impertinent 
advice.  Considered  in  itself,  I  think  the  idea  of 
christening  a  child,  and  answering  for  what  one 
can  not  possibly  foresee,  a  very  ridiculous  one  ; 


RELICS.  187 

but,  when  Heaven  is  called  upon  and  the  presence 
of  the  Deity  invoked  to  witness  it,  it  becomes  a 
serious  ceremony,  though  it  may  be  an  erroneous 
one  ;  and  the  invocation  of  the  Deity  is  not  to 
be  sported  with  even  on  an  erroneous  occasion. 

MAGNIFYING  TRIFLES. 

Affection,  like  melancholy,  magnifies  trifles  : 
but  the  magnifying  of  the  one  is  like  looking 
through  a  telescope  at  heavenly  objects  ;  that  of 
the  other,  like  enlarging  monsters  with  a  micro- 
scope. 

EELIOS. 

It  is  amusing  to  think  how  the  world  neglect 
great  men,  and  how  they  value  their  most  paltry 
memorials  ;  and  yet  it  shows  the  happy  tendency 
of  every  trifle  to  keep  up  their  reputation.  Thus 
the  warrior  who  is  ungratefully  used  by  his  coun- 
try may  obtain  his  reward  after  death  by  his  cap 
or  his  sword  ;  a  poet  may  be  immortalized  among 
the  vulgar  by  the  chair  in  which  he  used  to  write  ; 
and  the  beautiful  Mary  Stuart  triumph  over  her 
rival  Elizabeth  by  the  mere  force  of  a  miniature. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  this  deification  of  kickshaws 
may  be  abused.  The  Roman  Catholics  have  five 
or  six  legs,  original  legs,  of  the  same  saint,  in  five 
or  six  different  places,  so  that  either  five  of  the 
claimants  tell  us  a  story,  or  the  saint  must  have 
been  a  monster.  They  are  also  a  little  too  apt  to 


138  TABLE-TALK. 

suppose  every  tombstone  they  dig  up  in  Italy  to 
have  been  a  saint's  or  a  martyr's  ;  and  they  deify 
the  names  they  find  upon  them,  which  for  aught 
we  know  may  have  belonged  to  overseers  of  the 
road,  or  some  of  the  greatest  scoundrels  in  an- 
cient Rome,  or  perhaps  even  to  the  persecutors  of 
the  primitive  Christians. 

SOLITUDE. 

Hermits  might  have  been  very  comfortable  for 
aught  I  know,  but  I  am  persuaded  there  is  no  such 
thing,  after  all,  as  a  perfect  enjoyment  of  soli- 
tude ;  for,  the  more  delicious  the  solitude,  the 
more  one  wants  a  companion. 

LOUIS   XIY.   AND   GEOEGE  IV. 

Louis  XIY.  was  like  George  IV.,  inasmuch  as 
he  was  fond  of  pleasure  ;  but  his  ambition  ren- 
dered him  at  once  a  better  and  a  worse  man  than 
the  latter,  for  it  made  him  fonder  of  literature 
and  the  arts,  which  he  knew  would  immortalize 
him,  and  it  plunged  him  into  a  hundred  useless 
wars,  which  the  latter  has  never  been  able  to 
undertake,  and  probably  never  would  have  under- 
taken, as  he  is  so  grossly  indolent  ;  for  I  do  not 
think  his  virtues  would  preserve  him  from  any 
error.  In  short,  if  the  vices  of  Louis  had  greater 
opportunity  to  extend  themselves  than  those  of 
George,  the  Frenchman  was,  nevertheless,  more 


HENRY  IV.  OF  FRANCE  AND  ALFRED.       189 

sensible,  more  tasteful,  more  refined  in  his  plea- 
sures, more  like  a  prince.  He  was  more  like  the 
Emperor  Augustus,  except  that  he  became  a  reli- 
gious bigot  in  his  old  age — the  common  end  of 
many  a  vicious  man  who  is  disappointed. 

HENRY   IV.    OF  FRANCE   AND   ALFRED. 

My  two  favorite  princes  are  Henry  IV.  of 
France  and  our  own  Alfred.  The  one,  though 
he  was  a  man  of  gallantry  (which  is  to  be  par- 
doned, in  a  great  measure,  in  a  Frenchman  of  his 
time),  was  never  depraved,  never  lost  the  good- 
ness of  his  heart  ;  and  he  was  a  perfect  hero  of 
chivalry,  as  well  as  a  philosopher  in  adversity. 
The  other  is  the  most  perfect  character  in  the  list 
of  monarchs  of  any  age  or  country,  a  man  who 
has  come  down  to  posterity  without  a  single  vice  ; 
a  warrior,  a  legislator,  a  poet,  a  musician,  a  phi- 
losopher ;  a  mixture  of  everything  great  and 
small  that  renders  us  dignified,  wise,  or  accom- 
plished ;  a  combination,  indeed — 

"  Where  ev'ry  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man." 

You  see  I  must  have  recourse  to  Shakespeare. 
Nobody  but  such  a  writer  can  describe  such  a 
king. 

FELLOWS  OF  COLLEGES. 

These  Fellows  are  absolute  monks,  without 
monkish  superstition  or  restraint  ;  they  live  luxu- 


190  TABLE-TALK. 

riously,  walk,  ride,  read,  and  have  nothing  to  get 
in  this  world,  but  a  good  appetite  of  a  morning. 

BEAUTY  A  JOY  IN  HEAVEN. 

Beauty  of  every  kind,  poeticized,  comes  int< 
the  composition  of  my  heaven — beauty  of  think 
ing,  beauty  of  feeling,  beauty  of  talking,  beaut] 
of  hearing,  and,  of  course,  beauty  of  seeing,  in 
eluding  visions  of  beautiful  eyes  and  beautifu 
turns  of  limb. 

ASSOCIATIONS   OF  GLASTONBURY. 

Glastonbury  is  a  town  famous  in  old  record* 
for  the  most  ancient  abbey  in  the  kingdom,  foi 
being  the  supposed  birthplace  of  King  Arthur 
and  for  producing  a  species  of  whitethorn  whicli 
was  said  to  bud  miraculously  on  Christmas-day  ; 
JSt.  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  it  seems,  having  stud 
his  walking-stick  in  the  ground  on  his  arrival 
here,  upon  which  the  earth  expressed  its  sense 
of  the  compliment  by  turning  it  into  a  thorn  in 
blossom.  Glastonbury  is  said  to  be  the  burial- 
place  of  King  Arthur  ;  but  I  am  afraid  the  truth 
is,  that  he  was  buried  in  the  same  place  in  whicli 
he  was  born  and  lived — the  brain  of  a  poet. 

LIBERTY   OF  SPEECH. 

Whenever  we  feel  ourselves  in  the  possession 
of  such  a  liberty  and  confidence  of  sociality  as 


WRITING  POETRY.  191 

ire  not  to  be  found  in  France  or  Turkey,  then  I 
nust  beg  leave  to  return  my  thanks  to  the  Hamp- 
lens,  the  Holts,  Andrew  Marvells,  and  other  old 
English  freemen,  whose  exertions,  acting  upon 
is  to  this  very  day,  enable  us  to  say  and  to  enjoy 
vhat  we  do. 

WRITING  POETRY. 

Poetry  is  very  trying  work,  if  your  heart  and 
ipirits  are  in  it — particularly  with  a  weak  body, 
rhe  concentration  of  your  faculties,  and  the  ne- 
sessity  and  ambition  you  feel  to  extract  all  the 
essential  heat  of  your  thoughts,  seem  to  make  up 
hat  powerful  and  exhausting  effect  called  inspi- 
ation.  The  ability  to  sustain  this,  as  well  as  all 
>ther  exercises  of  the  spirit,  will  evidently  de- 
>end,  in  some  measure,  upon  the  state  of  your 
rame  ;  so  that  Dryden  does  not  appear  to  have 
>een  altogether  so  fantastical  in  dieting  himself 
or  a  task  of  verse  ;  nor  Milton  and  others,  in 
hinking  their  faculties  stronger  at  particular 
>eriods  :  though  the  former,  perhaps,  might  have 
endered  his  caution  unnecessary  by  undeviating 
emperance  ;  and  the  latter  have  referred  to  the 
unshine  of  summer,  or  the  in-door  snugness  of 
rosty  weather,  what  they  chose  to  attribute  to  a 
oftier  influence. 

TEE   WOMEN  OF  ITALY. 
The  general  aspect  of  the  women  in  Italy  is 
triking,  but  not  handsome  ;  that  is  to  say,  stronger 


192  TABLE-TALK. 

marked  and  more  decided  than  pleasing.  But, 
when  you  do  see  fine  faces,  they  are  fine  indeed ; 
and  they  have  all  an  intelligence  and  absence  of 
affectation,  very  different  from  that  idea  of  for- 
eigners which  the  French  are  apt  to  give  people. 

FRENCH  PEOPLE. 

The  French  are  pleasant  in  their  manner,  but 
seem  to  contain  a  good  deal  of  ready-made  heat 
and  touchiness,  in  case  the  little  commerce  of 
flattery  and  sweetness  is  not  properly  carried  on. 
There  are  a  great  many  pretty  girls,  but  I  see  no 
fine-faced  old  people,  which  is  not  a  good  symp- 
tom. Nor  do  the  looks  of  the  former  contain 
much  depth,  or  sentiment,  or  firmness  of  purpose. 
They  seem  made  like  their  toys,  not  to  last,  but 
to  play  with  and  break  up. 

THE  BLIND. 

It  is  very  piteous  to  look  at  blind  people  ;  but 
it  is  observed  that  they  are  generally  cheerful  be- 
cause others  pay  them  so  much  attention  ;  and 
one  would  suffer  a  good  deal  to  be  continually 
treated  with  love. 

LONDON. 

London,  as  you  say,  is  not  a  poetical  place  to 
look  at ;  but  surely  it  is  poetical  in  the  very 
amount  and  comprehensiveness  of  its  enormous 


SOUTHEY'S  POETRY.  193 

experience  of  pain  and  pleasure — a  Shakespearean 
one.  It  is  one  of  the  great  giant  representatives 
of  mankind,  with  a  huge  beating  heart  ;  and 
much  of  the  vice  even,  and  misery  of  it  (in  a 
deep  philosophical  consideration),  is  but  one  of 
the  forms  of  the  movement  of  a  yet  unsteadied 
progression,  trying  to  balance  things,  and  not 
without  its  reliefs  ;  though,  God  knows,  there  is 
enough  suffering  to  make  us  all  keep  a  lookout 
in  advance. 

SOUTHEY'S  POETRY. 

I  believe  you  are  right  about  Southey's  poetry, 
and  cry  mercy  to  it  accordingly.  He  went  to  it 
too  mechanically,  and  with  too  much  nonchalance; 
and  the  consequence  was  a  vast  many  words  to 
little  matter.  Nor  had  he  the  least  music  in  him 
at  all.  The  consequence  of  which  was,  that  he 
wrote  prose  out  into  lyrical  wild  shapes,  and  took 
the  appearance  of  it  for  verse.  Yet  there  was 
otherwise  a  poetical  nature  distributed  through 
the  mass,  idly  despising  the  concentration  that 
would  have  been  the  salvation  of  it. 

VULGAR   CALUMNY. 

I  believe  that  one  part  of  the  public  will  al- 
ways, if  they  can,  calumniate  any  man  who  tries 
to  amend  them,  and  whom  therefore  they  con- 
clude to  be  their  superior  ;  but  the  great  part, 
13 


194  TABLE-TALK. 

perhaps  these  included,  will  nevertheless  be  al- 
ways willing  to  read  one,  provided  they  are  amused 
by  one's  writings. 

VALUE  OF  ACQUIREMENTS. 

Acquirements  of  every  sort  increase  our  powers 
of  doing  good,  both  to  ourselves  and  others  ;  and 
the  knowledge  of  languages — of  any  language 
almost — may  turn  out  of  the  greatest  service  to 
us  in  advancing  our  prospects  in  life.  The  knowl- 
edge of  French — and  I  have  no  doubt  the  case  is 
the  same  with  that  of  Italian,  of  Spanish,  of  Ger- 
man, etc. — has  been  known  to  give  a  young  man 
great  and  sudden  advantages  over  his  fellows,  and 
send  him  abroad  upon  the  most  interesting  and 
important  commissions.  Suppose  a  messenger 
were  required,  for  instance,  to  go  on  the  sudden 
upon  some  urgent  matter  of  government  business 
to;  another  country,  and  none  were  immediately 
to  be  had.  A  clerk  starts  up  who  understands 
Italian,  and  is  dispatched  in  a  hurry  to  Rome  or 
Turin.  Suppose  an  assistant  botanist  is  required 
to  explore  an  Eastern  country ;  what  an  advan- 
tage the  knowledge  of  Arabic  or  Persian  would 
give  him  over  competitors  ignorant  of  those  lan- 
guages !  Somebody  has  said  that  a  man  who  un- 
derstood four  languages  besides  his  own  was  five 
men  instead  of  one. 


ATTRACTIONS   OF  HAM.  195 

THE   BEARD. 

Physicians  proclaim  it  to  be  a  "  natural  respi- 
rator "  ;  it  is  manifestly  a  clothing  and  a  comfort 
to  the  jaws  and  throat — ergo,  probably,  to  regions 
adjoining  ;  it  is  manly  ;  it  is  noble  ;  it  is  hand- 
some. Think  of  all  those  beards  of  old,  under 
tents  and  turbans  ;  think  of  them  now — how  the 
whole  East  is  bearded  still,  as  it  ever  was,  and 
ever  will  be,  beard  without  end.  The  Chinese,  it 
is  true,  are  unbearded  ;  but  that  was  a  Tartar  do- 
ing, the  work  of  the  dynasty  that  is  now  being 
ousted.  Confucius  came  before  it,  and  had  a 
beard  as  profound  as  his  philosophy,  you  may 
rest  assured.  How  else  would  the  philosophy 
have  come  ? — how  have  brooded  to  such  purpose  ? 
— been  so  warm  in  his  "  nares  "  (as  you  justly  ob- 
serve) or  so  flowing  toward  his  fellow  creatures  ? 

ATTRACTIONS  OF  HAM. 

Old  trees,  the  placidest  of  rivers,  Thomson  up 
above  you,  Pope  near  you,  Cowley  himself  not  a 
great  way  off  :  I  hope  here  is  a  nest  of  repose, 
both  material  and  spiritual,  of  the  most  Cowleian 
and  Evelynian  sort.  Ham,  too,  you  know,  is  ex- 
pressly celebrated  both  by  Thomson  and  Arm- 
strong ;  and  though  that  infernal  Duke  of  Lau- 
derdale  lived  there,  who  put  people  to  the  rack 
(in  the  first  old  original  Ham  House,  I  believe — 


196  TABLE-TALK. 

he  married  a  Dysart),  yet  even  the  bittter  taste  of 
him  is  taken  out  of  the  mouth  by  the  sweets  of 
these  poets,  and  by  the  memories  of  the  good 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Queensberry  (Prior's  Kitty), 
who  nursed  their  friend  Gay  there  when  he  was 
ill.  Ay,  and  when  he  was  well ;  and  upon  ham 
as  well  as  in  it ;  for  you  know  he  was  a  great 
eater,  which  made  him,  of  course,  ill  again  ;  and 
then  they  fed  him  on  teas,  and  syllabubs,  and 
ladies'-fingers,  and  again  made  him  well,  and  able 
to  be  ill  another  time.  And  he  was  a  punster  too, 
was  Gay,  and  doubtless  punned  as  well  as  feasted 
on  ham. 

SLEEPING   TOTDEK  THE   SKY. 

The  other  day  I  had  a  delicious  sleep  in  a  hay- 
cock. These  green  fields  and  blue  skies  throw 
me  into  a  kind  of  placid  intoxication.  Are  there 
many  moments  more  delicious  than  the  one  in 
which  you  feel  yourself  going  to  slumber,  with 
the  sense  of  green  about  you,  of  an  air  in  your  face, 
and  of  the  great  sky  arching  over  your  head  ? 
One  feels,  at  such  times,  all  the  grandeur  of  plane- 
tary consciousness  without  the  pain  of  it.  You 
know  what  I  mean.  There  is  a  sort  of  kind  and 
beautiful  sensuality  in  it  which  softens  the  cuts 
and  oppressiveness  of  intellectual  perception. 
Certainly,  a  country  so  green  as  England  can 
not  well  be  equaled  by  any  other  at  such  a 
season. 


WAR  POETRY.  197 

WAR  POETRY. 

You  may  judge  what  I  felt  about  the  war 
sonnets,  when  I  opened  the  book  on  the  one  be- 
ginning— 

"  Blaze  gun  to  gun,"  etc.,  etc., 

with  that  affectation  of  encouraging  "  living 
mires,"  and  "  hells  of  fire,"  which  is  or  ought  to 
be  revolting  to  a  poet's  heart,  and  is  not  at  all  his 
business  :  for  to  say  it  is  necessary  to  oppose  the 
"  commonplaces  of  humanity  "  with  such  outrages 
upon  them,  is  itself  a  commonplace,  however  it 
may  seem  otherwise  to  the  unreflecting.  Man- 
kind are  always  too  ready  to  continue  the  barbar- 
ism, war  ;  and  whatever  may  be  the  unavoidable- 
ness  of  it,  or  even  the  desirableness  of  it,  at  some 
particular  moment,  when  forced  upon  us  by  bar- 
barism itself,  it  is  not  the  poet's  business  to 
lay  down  his  harp  of  Orpheus  and  halloo  brutali- 
ties on. 

And  as  to  God's  permission,  and  therefore  use 
of  such  things,  we  might  as  well  encourage,  in- 
stead of  piously  helping  to  do  away,  any  other 
evils  through  which,  or  in  spite  of  which,  good 
mysteriously  progresses,  and  strike  up  howls  in 
praise  of  murder  in  ordinary  and  Bartholomew 
massacres.  Such  mistakes  vex  one  in  men  of 
genius,  who  ought  to  know  better. 


198  TABLE-TALK. 

MONEY-GETTING. 

You  are  right  about  money-getting  in  the  main, 
horrible  as  are  the  abuses  of  it,  and  provoking 
sometimes  its  predominance.  Besides,  it  is  a 
phase  of  things  through  which  all  the  world  must 
go,  till  they  have  all  made  acquaintance  with  one 
another,  and  all  interchanged  their  goods  and 
knowledges  ;  by  which  time  it  is  to  be  hoped 
they  will  all  have  discovered  the  means  and  ad- 
vantages of  obtaining  more  leisure,  varying  the 
pursuit,  and  exalting  its  objects  :  for  I  suppose 
we  are  not  to  believe  that  the  world  is  to  go  on 
through  countless  millions  of  ages  precisely  as  it 
does  at  this  or  any  other  moment,  merely  because 
Jones  trades  with  Thompson,  and  Smith  is  a  pork- 
butcher. 

VALUE  OF  WORDS. 

^  Words  are  often  things  also,  and  very  precious, 
especially  on  the  gravest  occasions.  Without 
"  words,"  and  the  truth  of  things  that  is  in  them, 
what  were  we  ? 

UNWRITTEN  REVELATIONS. 

The  only  two  books  of  paramount  authority 
with  me  are  the  Book  of  Nature,  and  the  heart  of 
its  reader,  Man  ;  and  that  the  operations  in  the 
one,  and  the  aspirations  of  the  other  (though  I 
fully  concede,  as  I  am  bound  to  do,  all  the  recon- 


WEEPING.  199 

cilements,  and  possibilities,  and  transcendentations 
of  every  kind,  which  greater  understandings  and 
imaginations  than  my  own  may  see  in  other 
books),  compel  me — if  so  glad  a  conclusion  can  be 
called  compulsion — to  be  of  the  opinion  that  God 
is  the  unmingled,  wholly  benevolent,  and  conscious 
spirit  of  Good,  working  through  His  agent,  Man  ; 
that  evil,  where  it  is  evil,  and  not  a  necessary  por- 
tion of  good  (as  it  probably  all  is  ultimately),  is 
the  difficulty  presented  to  the  course  of  this  work- 
ing by  the  unconscious,  involuntary,  and  there- 
fore unmalignant  mystery  called  Matter  ;  that  God, 
though  not  immediately  or  in  all  stages  of  His 
processes  almighty,  is  ultimately  so  ;  and  that  His 
constant  occupation  is  the  working  out  of  heavens 
in  place  and  time,  in  which  prospection  and  re- 
trospection somehow  or  other  become  reconciled 
to  the  final  conscious  beatitude  of  all  the  souls 
that  have  ever  existed. 

WEEPING. 

It  is  an  affecting,  and  would  be  a  startling  con- 
sideration, to  think  that  God  has  given  us  tears 
for  such  express  purposes  of  relief,  as  knowing 
how  much  our  sorrows  would  need  them,  were  not 
this  very  fact,  among  others,  a  proof  (at  least,  it 
is  a  great  evidence  to  myself)  that  all  other  needs 
of  our  affections  are  destined  to  be  made  up  to  us 
in  good  time.  For  tears,  though  they  calm  the 


200  TABLE-TALK. 

first  outbreaks  of  affliction,  do  not  suffice  for  its 
subsequent  yearnings ;  and  as  those  yearnings 
continue — often  with  great  returns  of  anguish  to 
the  last — sufficingness,  I  think,  remains  in  store 
for  them  also.  I  should  be  one  of  the  unhappiest, 
instead  of  the  most  resigned  of  men,  at  this  mo- 
ment, if  I  did  not  constantly,  and  as  it  were  in- 
stinctively, feel  that  I  should  rejoin  all  the  dear 
ones  whom  I  have  lost — words  that  now,  as  I 
write,  wring  bitter  and  unsufficing  tears  from  the 
quivering  of  the  soul  within  me.  Encourage  and, 
as  it  were,  throw  yourself  heartily  into  the  arms 
of  this  expectation  ;  think  how  worthy  it  is,  both 
of  man  and  God,  quite  apart  from  the  dogmas 
which  too  often  render  both  so  much  the  reverse  ; 
and,  meantime,  act  in  every  respect  with  regard  to 
your  dear  one  just  as  you  feel  sure  she  would  wish 
you  to  acty  weeping  as  plentifully  as  you  need, 
but  as  patiently  too,  and  considering  her  as  only 
gone;  before  you,  to  be  rejoined  :  she,  all  the 
while,  being  delivered  from  all  her  pain,  spiritual 
as  well  as  bodily,  because  she  now  possesses  that 
certainty,  as  a  disembodied  spirit,  which,  for 
some  finally  good  purpose,  it  is  not  fit  that  we, 
who  are  yet  on  earth,  should  possess  ourselves. 
For  my  part,  I  confess  to  you  that  I  often  feel  it 
highly  probable  that  the  spirits  of  my  own  be- 
loved dead  are  in  the  room  with  me,  and  that  they 
feel  a  special  and  heavenly  pleasure  by  seeing  that 
I  do  so,  and  by  knowing  the  comfort  it  gives  me. 


WEEPING.  201 

I  count  this  no  kind  of  madness,  but  one  of  the 
heights  of  reason  ;  for  it  does  not  unfit  me  for  the 
common  work  of  life,  but,  on  the  contrary,  helps 
it.  And  as  it  neither  fevers  me,  nor  is  caused  by 
any  fever  itself,  I  count  it  not  among  the  un- 
healthy, but  the  healthy  capabilities  of  my  nature  ; 
therefore  of  anybody  else's  nature  who  chooses 
reasonably  to  enjoy  it. 


IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS 

OF 

POPE  AND  SWIFT. 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE. 

EEPOETED  BY  A  YOUNG   GENTLEMAN  WHO  DINED  WITH  HIM. 

July  4,  1727. 

YESTERDAY  was  a  day  of  delight.  I  dined  with 
Mr.  Pope.  The  only  persons  present  were  the 
venerable  lady  his  mother,  Mrs.  Martha  Blount, 
and  Mr.  Walscott,  a  great  Tory,  but  as  great  a 
lover  of  Dryden  ;  which  Mr.  Pope  was  pleased  to 
inform  me  was  the  reason  he  had  invited  me  to 
meet  him.  Mr.  Pope  was  in  black,  with  a  tie- 
wig.  I  could  not  help  regarding  him,  as  he  sat 
leaning  in  his  arm-chair  before  dinner,  in  the  light 
of  a  portrait  for  posterity.  When  he  came  into 
the  room,  after  kindly  making  me  welcome,  he 
took  some  flowers  out  of  a  little  basket  that  he 
had  brought  with  him,  and  presented  them,  not  to 
Mrs.  Martha,  who  seemed  to  look  as  if  she  ex- 


204  TABLE-TALK. 

pected  it,  but  to  Mrs.  Pope  ;  which  I  thought 
very  pretty,  and  like  a  gentleman,  not  in  the  or- 
dinary way.  But  the  other  had  no  reason  to  be 
displeased  ;  for,  turning  to  her  with  the  remain- 
der, he  said  :  "  I  was  thinking  of  a  compliment  to 
pay  you  ;  so  I  have  done  it."  He  flatters  with 
as  much  delicacy  as  Sir  Richard  Steele  ;  and  the 
ladies  like  it  as  much  from  him.  What  fine- 
shaped  fellows  have  I  seen,  who  could  not  call  up 
half  such  looks  into  their  eyes  ! 

I  was  in  a  flutter  of  spirits,  which  took  away 
my  appetite.  Mr.  Pope  recommended  his  fish 
and  his  Banstead  mutton  to  no  purpose.  I  was 
too  well  fed  with  hearing  him  talk.  However,  I 
mechanically  drank  his  wine,  which  emboldened 
me  to  say  something.  What  I  said,  I  do  not  very 
well  remember,  and  it  is  no  matter.  I  have  even 
forgotten  some  agreeable  stories  related  by  Mr. 
Walscott  about  the  civil  wars ;  but  every  word 
that  passed  the  lips  of  Mr.  Pope  seems  engraven 
on  my  brain.  From  the  subject  of  killing  mut- 
ton, the  talk  fell  upon  cruelty  to  animals,  upon 
which  Mr.  Pope  made  some  excellent  observa- 
tions. He  began  by  remarking  how  strange  it 
was  that  little  or  nothing  had  been  said  of  it  in 
books. 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  I  suppose  authors  have  been 
too  much  in  the  habit  of  attending  to  the  opera- 
tion of  their  own  minds. 

MB.  POPE.  But  they  have  been  anglers,     I 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  205 

have  a  curious  book  in  my  library  written  by  one 
Isaac  Walton,  an  old  linen-draper  in  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second,  who  was  fond  of  meadows 
and  village  ale-houses,  and  has  really  a  pretty  pas- 
toral taste.  This  man  piques  himself  on  his  hu- 
manity ;  and  yet  the  directions  he  gives  011  the 
subject  of  angling  (for  the  book  is  written  on  that 
art)  are  full  of  such  shocking  cruelty  that  I  do  not 
care  to  repeat  them  before  ladies.  He  wrote  the 
lives  of  Donne,  Hooker,  and  others,  all  anglers,  and 
good  religious  men.  Yet  I  suppose  they  were  all 
as  cruel.  It  is  wonderful  how  the  old  man  passes 
from  pious  reflections  to  the  tortures  of  fish  and 
worms,  just  as  if  pain  were  nothing.  Yet  what 
else  are  the  devil  and  his  doings  made  of  ? 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  Dryden  was  an  angler. 

MR.  POPE.  Yes;  he  once  exclaimed  of  D'Urfey, 
"  He  fish  !  "  because  the  man  attempted  to  write. 
There  is  a  passage  in  his  "  Astrsea  Redux,"  writ- 
ten in  the  proper  fishing  spirit  ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
which  all  the  consideration  is  for  the  fisher,  and 
none  for  the  fish. 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  I  remember  it.  He  is  speak- 
ing of  General  Monk,  and  the  way  in  which  he 
brought  about  the  grand  stroke  for  the  Restora- 
tion : 

"  'Twos  not  the  hasty  product  of  a  day, 
But  the  well-ripened  fruit  of  wise  delay. 
He,  like  a  patient  angler,  ere  he  strook, 
Would  let  him  play  a  while  upon  the  hook." 


206  TABLE-TALK. 

ME.  POPE.  The  "  patient  angler  "  !  Mighty 
patient  truly,  to  sit  at  a  man's  ease  and  amuse 
himself  !  The  question  is,  what  the  fish  think 
of  it. 

MES.  MAETHA  BLOUNT.  Sure  it  must  be  so  ; 
and  yet  I  never  once  thought  of  that  before.  God 
forgive  me  for  the  murders  I  committed  last  year 
in  Oxfordshire,  at  the  instigation  of  my  brother  ! 

Mr.  Pope  looked  at  her  with  benevolence  as 
she  said  this  ;  but  he  was  too  much  in  earnest  to 
pay  her  the  compliments  which  ordinary  gallantry 
would  have  struck  out  of  the  confession.  I  really 
believe  he  feels  as  much  for  carp  and  trout  as 
most  men  dp  for  each  other. 

ME.  WALSCOTT.  But  would  it  not  be  exchang- 
ing one  pain  for  another,  to  make  people  think 
too  much  of  these  things  ? 

ME.  POPE.  That  is  well  said.  But  I  know  not 
what  right  we  have  to  continue  putting  our  fellow 
creatures  to  pain,  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  it  our- 
selves. Besides,  there  is  a  pain  that  exalts  the 
understanding  and  morals,  and  is  not  unallied 
with  pleasure  ;  which  can  not  be  said  of  putting 
hooks  into  poor  creatures'  jaws  and  bowels. 

ME.  WALSCOTT.  There  is  a  good  deal  in  that. 
Yet  all  animals  prey  upon  one  another.  We  prey 
upon  them  ourselves.  We  are  at  this  minute 
availing  ourselves  of  the  cruelties  of  butchers  and 
fishermen. 

ME.  POPE.  Not  the  cruelties.    Killing  and  tor- 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  207 

turing  are  different.  Death  is  inevitable  to  all ; 
and  a  sheep  who  has  passed  his  days  in  the 
meadows,  and  undergone  a  short  death  from  a 
knife,  has  had  as  good  a  bargain  as  most  of  us. 
Animals  kill,  but  they  do  not  torture  one  an- 
other. 

MB.  WALSCOTT.  I  think  I  have  read  of  in- 
stances. Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it ;  and  what  think 
you  of  the  cat  with  a  mouse  ? 

ME.  POPE.  Why,  I  think  she  is  very  like  an 
angler.  I  should  wish  to  see  a  treatise  on  the 
subject  by  a  cat.  It  is  a  meditative  creature, 
like  old  Isaac,  and  is  fond  of  fish.  I  am  glad 
to  see  how  much  the  fera  natura  excuses  them 
both  ;  but  to  us,  who  can  push  our  meditations 
further,  the  excuse  is  not  the  same. 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  Yet  this  appears  to  be  in- 
stinct. What  say  you  to  Nature  ?  It  is  her  own 
doing. 

MR.  POPE.  Nature  is  a  very  wide  term.  We 
make  use  of  it  rather  to  get  rid  of  arguments 
than  to  enforce  them.  If  it  is  the  cat's  nature  to 
torment,  it  is  man's  nature  to  know  better.  Im- 
provement is  nature.  The  reflections  we  are  now 
making  are  nature.  I  was  wrong  in  saying  that 
no  animal  tortures  another  ;  but  pray  observe — 
we  abuse  animals,  when  it  suits  us,  as  the  brute 
creation,  and  call  upon  them  to  bear  testimony  to 
our  natural  conduct,  when  we  are  pleased  to  re- 
semble them.  Now,  the  matter  is,  that  we  ought 


208  TABLE-TALK. 

to  imitate  them  solely  in  what  is  good  and  bene- 
ficial ;  and  in  all  other  cases,  give  both  them  and 
ourselves  the  benefit  of  our  better  knowledge. 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  Evil  will  exist  in  spite  of  us. 

MK.  POPE.  I  do  not  know  that.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  us,  who  only  see  to  the  length  of  a 
little  miserable  point  in  the  midst  of  eternity,  to 
say  what  will  or  will  not  exist.  But  we  must 
give  our  fellow  creatures  the  benefit  of  our  knowl- 
edge, and  our  ignorance,  too.  If  we  can  not 
abolish  evil,  we  may  diminish  it,  or  divide  it 
better  ;  and  nature  incites  us  to  do  so  by  putting 
the  thought  in  our  heads.  It  is  fancied  by  some, 
and  I  dare  say  anglers  fancy  it,  that  animals,  dif- 
ferent from  us  in  their  organization,  do  not  feel 
as  we  do.  I  hope  not.  It  is  at  least  a  good  argu- 
ment for  consolation,  when  we  can  do  nothing  to 
help  them  ;  but,  as  we  are  not  sure  of  it,  it  is  an 
argument  not  to  be  acted  upon  when  we  can. 
They  must  have  the  benefit  of  our  want  of  cer- 
tainty. Come,  anglers  shall  have  the  benefit  of 
it,  too.  Old  Walton  was  as  good  a  man  as  you 
could  make  out  of  an  otter  ;  and  I  like  the  otter 
the  better  for  him.  Dryden,  I  am  sure,  was  hu- 
mane :  he  was  too  great  a  man  to  be  otherwise. 
But  he  had  all  his  bodily  faculties  in  perfection  ; 
and  I  sometimes  think  that  animal  spirits  take  the 
place  of  reflection  on  certain  animal  occasions, 
and  fairly  occupy  the  whole  man  instead  of  it, 
even  while  he  thinks  he's  thinking.  Yet  I  am 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  209 

afraid  Donne  and  the  others  sophisticated  ;  for 
subtlety  was  their  business.  There  are  certain 
doctrines  that  do  men  no  good,  when  the  impor- 
tance of  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  pain  in  this 
world  comes  to  be  made  a  question  of ;  and  so 
they  get  their  excuse  that  way.  Anything  rather 
than  malignity  and  the  determination  to  give  pain; 
and  yet  I  know  not  how  the  angler  is  to  be  found 
guiltless  on  that  score,  if  he  reflects  on  what 
he  is  going  about.  I  am  sure  he  must  hurt  his 
own  mind,  and  perplex  his  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong. 

Mr.  Walscott  concluded  the  argument  by  own- 
ing himself  much  struck  with  the  variety  of  re- 
flections which  Mr.  Pope  had  brought  forward  or 
suggested.  He  said  he  thought  they  would  make 
a  good  poem.  Mr.  Pope  thought  so  too,  if  en- 
livened with  wit  and  description  ;  and  said  he 
should,  perhaps,  turn  it  in  his  mind.  He  remarked 
that,  till  the  mention  of  it  by  Sir  Richard  Steele, 
in  the  "  Tatler,"  he  really  was  not  aware  that  any- 
thing had  been  said  against  cruelty  to  animals  by 
an  English  writer,  with  the  exception  of  the  fine 
hint  in  Shakespeare  about  the  beetle.  "  Steele," 
said  he,  "  was  then  a  gay  fellow  about  town,  and 
a  soldier  ;  yet  he  did  not  think  it  an  imputation 
on  his  manhood  to  say  a  good  word  for  tomtits 
and  robins.  Shakespeare,  they  tell  us,  had  been 
a  rural  sportsman  ;  and  yet  he  grew  to  sympathize 
with  an  insect."  I  mentioned  the  "  Rural  Sports  " 
14 


210  .      TABLE-TALK. 

of  Mr.  Gay,  as  enlisting  that  poet  among  the 
anglers  that  rejected  worms.  "Yes,"  said  he, 
"  Gay  is  the  prettiest  fera  natura  that  ever  was, 
and  catches  his  trout  handsomely  to  dine  upon. 
But  you  see  the  effect  of  habit,  even  upon  him. 
He  must  lacerate  fish,  and  yet  would  not  hurt 
a  fly.  Dr.  Swift,  who  loves  him  as  much  as  he 
hates  angling,  said  to  him  one  day  at  my  Lord 
Bolingbroke's,  '  Mr.  Gay,  you  are  the  only  angler 
I  ever  heard  of,  with  an  idea  in  his  head  ;  and  it 
is  the  only  idea  you  have,  not  worth  having.' 
Angling  makes  the  Dean  melancholy,  and  sets 
him  upon  his  yahoos." 

This  authority  seemed  to  make  a  greater  im- 
pression upon  Mr.  Walscott  than  all  the  reasoning. 
He  is  a  very  great  Tory,  and  prodigiously  ad- 
mires the  Dean.  Mr.  Pope  delighted  him  by  ask- 
ing him  to  come  and  dine  with  them  both  next 
week  ;  for  the  Dean  is  in  England,  and  Mr.  Pope's 
visitor.  I  am  to  be  there  too.  "  But,"  says  he, 
"  you  must  not  talk  too  much  about  Dryden  ;  for 
the  Doctor  does  not  love  him."  Mr.  Walscott 
said  he  was  aware  of  that  circumstance  from  the 
Dean's  works,  and  thought  it  the  only  blemish  in 
his  character.  For  my  part,  I  had  heard  a  story 
of  Dryden  telling  him  he  would  never  be  a  poet  ; 
but  I  said  nothing.  Mr.  Pope  attributed  his  dis- 
like to  a  general  indignation  he  felt  against  his 
relations,  for  their  neglect  of  him  when  young. 
For  Dryden  was  his  kinsman.  The  Davenants 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  211 

are  his  relations,  and  he  does  not  like  them.  Mr. 
Walscott  asked  if  he  was  an  Englishman  or  an 
Irishman  ;  for  he  never  could  find  out.  "  You 
would  find  out,"  answered  Pope,  "if  you  heard 
him  talk  ;  for  he  can  not  get  rid  of  the  habit  of 
saying  a  for  e.  He  would  be  an  Englishman  with 
all  his  heart  if  he  could  ;  but  he  is  an  Irishman, 
that  is  certain,  and  with  all  his  heart  too,  in  one 
sense  ;  for  he  is  the  truest  patriot  that  country 
ever  saw.  He  has  the  merit  of  doing  Ireland  the 
most  wonderful  services,  without  loving  her  ;  and 
so  he  does  to  human  nature,  which  he  loves  as 
little  ;  or  at  least  he  thinks  so.  This,  and  his  wit, 
is  the  reason  why  his  friends  are  so  fond  of  him. 
You  must  not  talk  to  him  about  Irish  rhymes," 
added  Mr.  Pope,  "  any  more  than  you  must  talk 
to  me  about  the  gods  and  abodes  in  my  Homer, 
which  he  quarrels  with  me  for.  The  truth  is,  we 
all  write  Irish  rhymes  ;  and  the  Dean  contrives 
to  be  more  exact  in  that  way  than  most  of  us." 
"What  !  "  said  Mr.  Walscott,  "  does  he  carry  his 
Irish  accent  into  his  writings,  and  yet  think  to 
conceal  himself  ?  "  Mr.  Pope  read  to  us  an  odd 
kind  of  Latin-English  effusion  of  the  Dean's,  which 
made  us  shake  with  laughter.  It  was  about  a  con- 
sultation of  physicians.  The  words,  though  Latin 
themselves,  make  English  when  put  together  ;  and 
the  Hibernianism  of  the  spelling  is  very  plain.  I 
remember  a  taste  of  it.  A  doctor  begins  by  in- 
quiring : 


212  TABLE-TALK. 

"  Is  his  Honor  sic  ?  Prae  laBtus  f elis  pulse.  It 
do  es  beat  veris  loto  de."  * 

Here  de  spells  day.  An  Englishman  would 
have  used  the  word  da. 

"  ISTo,"  says  the  second  doctor,  "  no  notis  as  qui 
cassi  e  ver  f  el  tu  inetri  it,"  f  etc.,  etc. 

Metri  for  may  try. 

Mr.  Pope  told  us  that  there  were  two  bad 
rhymes  in  the  "Rape  of  the  Lock,"  and  in  the 
space  of  eight  lines — side  and  subside,  and  endued 
and  subdued.  \ 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  Those  would  be  very  good 
French  rhymes. 

MB.  POPE.  Yes,  the  French  make  a  merit  of 
necessity,  and  force  their  poverty  upon  us  for 
riches.  But  it  is  bad  in  English.  However,  it  is 
too  late  to  alter  what  I  wrote.  I  now  care  less 
about  them,  notwithstanding  the  Doctor.  When 
I  was  a  young  man,  I  was  for  the  free  disengaged 
way  of  Dryden,  as  in  the  "  Essay  on  Criticism  "  ; 
but  the  town  preferred  the  style  of  my  "  Pastorals," 
and  somehow  or  other  I  agreed  with  them.  I  then 
became  very  cautious,  and  wondered  how  those 
rhymes  in  the  "  Lock  "  escaped  me.  But  I  have 
now  come  to  this  conclusion  :  that  when  a  man 
has  established  his  reputation  for  being  able  to  do 

*  Is  his  Honor  sick  ?  Pray  let  us  feel  his  pulse.  It  does 
beat  very  slow  to-day. 

f  No,  no,  no !  His  as  quick  as  I  ever  felt.     You  may  try  it, 
\  Vide  pp.  120,  121  of  the  present  volume, 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  213 

a  thing,  he  may  take  liberties.  Weakness  is  one 
thing,  and  the  carelessness  of  power  another.  This 
makes  all  the  difference  between  those  shambling 
ballads  that  are  sold  among  the  common  people 
and  the  imitations  of  them  by  the  wits  to  serve  a 
purpose  ;  between  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  and  the 
ballads  on  the  Mohocks  and  great  men. 

Mr.  Pope  then  repeated,  with  great  pleasantry, 
Mr.  Gay's  verses  in  the  "Wonderful  Prophecy"  : 

"  From  Mohock  and  from  Hawkubite, 

Good  Lord,  deliver  me ! 
Who  wander  through  the  streets  by  night 
Committing  cruelty."  * 

Mr.  Walscott,  with  all  his  admiration  of  Dry- 
den,  is,  I  can  see,  a  still  greater  admirer  of  the 
style  of  Mr.  Pope.  But  his  politics  hardly  make 
him  know  which  to  prefer.  I  ventured  to  say 
that  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  appeared  to  me  per- 

*  The  other  verses,  which  Mr.  Pope's  visitor  has  not  set 
down,  are  as  follows  : 

"  They  slash  our  sons  with  bloody  knives, 

And  on  our  daughters  fall ; 
And  if  they  ravish  not  our  wives, 

We  have  good  luck  withal. 
Coaches  and  chairs  they  overturn, 

Nay,  carts  most  easily ; 
Therefore  from  Gog  and  eke  Magog, 

Good  Lord,  deliver  me  ! " 

The  Mohocks  were  young  rakes,  of  whom  terrible  stories 
were  told.  They  were  said  to  be  all  of  the  Whig  party. 


214  TABLE-TALK. 

fection ;  but  that  still,  in  some  kinds  of  poetry, 
I  thought  the  licenses  taken  by  the  "Essay  on 
Criticism  "  very  happy  in  their  effect :  as,  for  in- 
stance, said  I,  those  long  words  at  the  end  of 
couplets : 

"  Thus,  when  we  view  some  well-proportioned  dome 
(The  world's  just  wonder,  and  e'en  thine,  O  Eome !) 
No  single  parts  unequally  surprise ; 
All  come  united  to  the  admiring  eyes ; 
N"o  monstrous  height,  or  breadth,  or  length  appear ; 
The  whole  at  once  is  bold  and  regular." 

Now  here,  I  said,  is  the  regularity  and  the 
boldness  too.     And  again  : 

"  'Twere  well  might  critics  still  this  freedom  take; 
But  Appius  reddens  at  each  word  you  speak, 
And  stares  tremendous  with  a  threatening  eye, 
Like  some  fierce  tyrant  in  old  tapestry." 

And  that  other  couplet : 

^With  him  most  authors  steal  their  works,  or  buy ; 
Garth  did  not  write  his  own  Dispensary" 

I  said,  this  last  line,  beginning  with  that  strong 
monosyllable,  and  throwing  off  in  a  sprightly 
manner  the  long  word  at  the  end,  was  like  a  fine 
bar  of  music,  played  by  some  master  of  the  vio- 
lin. Mr.  Pope  smiled,  and  complimented  me  on 
the  delicacy  of  my  ear,  asking  me  if  I  understood 
music.  I  said  no,  but  was  very  fond  of  it.  He 
fell  into  a  little  musing,  and  then  observed  that 
he  did  not  know  how  it  was,  but  writers  fond  of 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  215 

music  appeared  to  have  a  greater  indulgence  for 
the  licenses  of  versification  than  any  others.  The 
two  smoothest  living  poets  were  not  much  attached 
to  that  art.  (I  guess  he  meant  himself  and  Dr. 
Swift.)  He  inquired  if  I  loved  painting.  I  told 
him  so  much  so  that  I  dabbled  in  it  a  little  my- 
self, and  liked  nothing  so  much  in  the  world,  after 
poetry.  "  Why,  then,"  said  he,  "  you  and  I,  some 
fine  morning,  will  dabble  in  it  like  ducks."  I  was 
delighted  at  the  prospect  of  this  honor,  but  said  I 
hoped  his  painting  was  nothing  nigh  equal  to  his 
poetry,  or  I  would  not  venture  to  touch  his  pal- 
ette. "Oh,"  cried  he,  "I  will  give  you  confi- 
dence." He  rose  with  the  greatest  good  nature, 
and  brought  us  a  sketch  of  a  head  after  Jervis, 
and  another  of  Mrs.  Martha.  I  had  begun  to  fear 
that  they  might  be  unworthy  of  so  great  a  man, 
even  as  amusements  ;  but  they  were  really  won- 
derfully well  done.  I  do  think  he  would  have 
made  a  fine  artist,  had  he  not  been  a  poet.*  He 
observed  that  we  wanted  good  criticism  on  pic- 
tures ;  and  that  the  best  we  had  yet  were  some 
remarks  of  Steele's  in  the  "Spectator,"  on  the 
cartoons  of  Raphael.  He  added  a  curious  obser- 
vation on  Milton  :  that  with  all  his  regard  for  the 
poets  of  Italy,  and  his  travels  in  that  country,  he 
has  said  not  a  word  of  their  painters,  nor  scarcely 
alluded  to  painting  throughout  his  works. 

*  This  has  been  doubted  by  others  who  have  seen  his  per-= 
formances.     Some  of  them  remain,  and  are  not  esteemed. 


216  TABLE-TALK. 

ME.  WALSCOTT.  Perhaps  there  was  something 
of  the  Puritan  in  that.  Courts,  in  Milton's  time, 
had  a  taste  for  pictures  :  King  Charles  had  a  fine 
taste. 

MR.  POPE.  True  ;  but  Milton  never  gave  up 
his  love  of  music — his  playing  on  the  organ.  If 
he  had  loved  painting,  he  would  not  have  held  his 
tongue  about  it.  I  have  heard  somebody  remark 
that  the  names  of  his  two  great  archangels  are 
those  of  the  two  great  Italian  painters,  and  that 
their  characters  correspond  ;  which  is  true  and 
odd  enough.  But  he  had  no  design  in  it.  He 
would  not  have  confined  his  praises  of  Raphael 
and  Michael  Angelo  to  that  obscure  intimation. 
I  believe  he  had  no  eyes  for  pictures. 

MB.  WALSCOTT.  Dryden  has  said  fine  things 
about  pictures.  There  is  the  epistle  to  your  friend 
Sir  Godfrey,  and  the  ode  on  young  Mrs.  Killigrew. 
Did  he  know  anything  of  the  art  ? 

MR.  POPE.  Why,  I  believe  not ;  but  he  dashed 
at  it  in  his  high  way,  as  he  did  at  politics  and 
divinity,  and  came  off  with  flying  colors.  Dry- 
den's  poetic  faith  was  a  good  deal  like  his  reli- 
gious. He  could  turn  it  to  one  point  after  another, 
and  be  just  enough  in  earnest  to  make  his  belief 
be  taken  for  knowledge. 

Mr.  Pope  told  us  that  he  had  been  taken,  when 
a  boy,  to  see  Dryden  at  a  coffee-house.  I  felt  my 
color  change  at  this  anecdote,  so  vain  do  I  find 
myself.  I  took  the  liberty  of  asking  him  how 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  217 

he  felt  at  the  sight ;  for  it  seems  he  only  saw  Dry- 
den  ;  he  did  not  speak  to  him,  which  is  a  pity. 

MR.  POPE.  Why,  I  said  to  myself  :  "  That  is 
the  great  Mr.  Dryden  ;  there  he  is  :  he  must  be  a 
happy  man"  This  notion  of  his  happiness  was 
the  uppermost  thing  in  my  mind,  beyond  even  his 
fame.  I  thought  a  good  deal  of  that ;  but  I  knew 
no  pleasure,  even  at  that  early  age,  like  writing 
verses  ;  and  there,  said  I,  is  the  man  who  can 
write  verses  from  morning  till  night,  and  the 
finest  verses  in  the  world.  I  am  pretty  much  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking  now.  Yes  ;  I  really  do 
think  that  I  could  do  nothing  but  write  verses  all 
day  long,  just  taking  my  dinner,  and  a  walk  or 
so,  if  I  had  health.  And  I  suspect  it  is  the  same 
with  all  poets — I  mean  with  all  who  have  a  real 
passion  for  their  art.  Mr.  Honeycomb,  I  know, 
agrees  with  me,  from  his  own  experience. 

The  gratitude  I  felt  for  this  allusion  to  what  I 
said  to  him  one  day  at  Button's  was  more  than  I 
can  express.  I  could  have  kissed  his  hand  out  of 
love  and  reverence.  "  Sir,"  said  I,  "  you  may 
guess  what  I  think  of  the  happiness  of  poets, 
when  it  puts  me  in  a  state  of  delight  inconceiva- 
ble to  be  supposed  worthy  of  such  a  reference  to 
my  opinion."  I  was  indeed  in  a  confusion  of 
pleasure.  Mr.  Walscott  said  it  was  fortunate  the 
ladies  had  left  us,  or  they  might  not  have  approved 
of  such  a  total  absorption  in  poetry.  "  Oh  ! "  cried 
Mr.  Pope,  "  there  we  have  you  ;  for  the  ladies  are 


218  TABLE-TALK. 

a  part  of  poetry  !  We  do  not  leave  them  out  in 
our  studies,-  depend  upon  it." 

I  asked  him  whom  he  looked  upon  as  the  best 
love-poet  among  our  former  writers.  I  added 
"former,"  because  the  "Epistle  of  Heloise  to 
Abelard  "  appears  to  me  to  surpass  any  express 
poem  on  that  subject  in  the  language.  He  said 
Waller  ;  but  added,  it  was  after  a  mode.  "  Every- 
thing," said  Mr.  Pope,  "  was  after  a  mode,  then. 
The  best  love-making  is  in  Shakespeare.  Love  is 
a  business  by  itself  in  Shakespeare,  just  as  it  is  in 
nature." 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  Do  you  think  Juliet  is  natu- 
ral when  she  talks  of  cutting  Romeo  into  "  little 
stars,"  and  making  the  heavens  fine  ? 

MR.  POPE.  Yes  ;  I  could  have  thought  that, 
or  anything  else,  of  my  mistress,  when  I  was  as 
young  as  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Petrarch,  as  some- 
body was  observing  the  other  day,  is  natural  for 
the^same  reason,  in  spite  of  the  conceits  which 
he  mixes  up  with  his  passion  ;  nay,  he  is  the  more 
natural,  supposing  his  passion  to  have  been  what 
I  take  it — that  is  to  say,  as  deep  and  as  wonder- 
working as  a  boy's.  The  best  of  us  have  been 
spoiled  in  these  matters  by  the  last  age.  Even 
Mr.  Walsh,  for  all  his  good  sense,  was  out  in  that 
affair,  in  his  Preface.  He  saw  very  well  that  a 
man,  to  speak  like  a  lover,  should  speak  as  he 
felt ;  but  he  did  not  know  that  there  were  lovers 
who  felt  like  Petrarch. 


CONVERSATION  OF  POPE.  219 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  You  would  admire  the  writ- 
ings of  one  Drummond,  a  Scotch  gentleman,  who 
was  a  great  loyalist. 

MB.  POPE.  I  know  him  well,  and  thank  you 
for  reminding  me  of  him.  If  he  had  written  a 
little  later  here  in  England,  and  been  published 
under  more  favorable  circumstances,  he  might 
have  left  Waller  in  a  second  rank.  He  was  more 
in  earnest,  and  knew  all  points  of  the  passion. 
There  is  great  tenderness  in  Drummond.  He  could 
look  at  the  moon,  and  think  of  his  mistress,  with- 
out thinking  how  genteelly  he  should  express 
it,  which  is  what  the  other  could  not  do.  No  ; 
we  have  really  no  love-poets,  except  the  old  dra- 
matic writers  ;  nor  the  French,  either,  since  the 
time  of  Marot. 

Mr.  WALSCOTT.  And  very  pretty  writing  it  is, 
if  managed  as  Mr.  Pope  manages  it. 

ME.  POPE.  I  do  not  undervalue  it,  I  assure 
you.  After  Shakespeare,  I  can  still  read  Voiture, 
and  like  him  very  much  :  only  it  is  like  coming 
from  country  to  town,  from  tragedy  to  the  rid  ot- 
to. To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  as  fond  of  the 
better  sort  of  those  polite  writers  as  any  man  can 
be  ;  and  I  feel  my  own  strength  to  lie  that  way  ; 
but  I  pique  myself  on  having  something  in  me 
besides,  which  they  have  not  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  have  been  able  to  write  the  "  Epistle  of  Helo- 
ise,"  if  I  hadn't.  There  is  a  force  and  sincerity  in 
the  graver  love-poets,  even  on  the  least  spiritual 


220  TABLE-TALK. 

parts  of  the  passion,  which  writers,  the  most  os- 
tentatious on  that  score,  might  envy. 

ME.  WALSCOTT.  The  tragedy  of  love  includes 
the  comedy,  eh  ? 

MR.  POPE.  Why,  that  is  just  about  the  truth 
of  it,  and  is  very  well  said. 

Mr.  Pope's  table  is  served  with  neatness  and 
elegance.  He  drinks  but  sparingly.  His  eating 
is  more  with  an  appetite,  but  all  nicely.  After 
dinner,  he  set  upon  table  some  wine  given  him  by 
my  Lord  Peterborough,  which  was  excellent.  He 
then  showed  us  his  grotto,  till  the  ladies  sent  to 
say  tea  was  ready.  I  never  see  a  tea-table  but  I 
think  of  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock."  Judge  what  I 
felt  when  I  saw  a  Mrs.  Fermor,  kinswoman  of 
Belinda,  seated  next  Miss  Martha  Blount,  who 
was  making  tea  and  coffee.  There  was  an  old 
lady  with  her ;  and  several  neighbors  came  in 
from  the  village.  This  multitude  disappointed 
me,  for  the  talk  became  too  general ;  and  my 
lord's  wine,  mixed  with  the  other  wine  and  the 
wit,  having  got  a  little  in  my  head,  and  Mr. 
Pope's  attention  being  repeatedly  called  to  other 
persons,  I  can  not  venture  to  put  down  any  more 
of  his  conversation.  But  I  shall  hear  him  again, 
and,  I  hope,  again  and  again.  So  patience  till 
next  week. 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      221 
CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE. 

RECORDED  BY   THE   SAME   VISITOR. 

July  15,  1727. 

AT  length  the  dies  optanda  came.  Shall  I 
confess  my  weakness?  I  could  do  nothing  all 
the  morning  but  walk  about,  now  reading  some- 
thing of  the  Dean's  or  Mr.  Pope's,  and  now  trying 
to  think  of  some  smart  things  to  say  at  dinner  ! 
I  did  not  say  one  of  them.  Yes,  I  made  an  obser- 
vation on  Sannazarius,  which  was  well  received.  I 
must  not  forget  the  boatman  who  took  me  across 
the  water  from  Sutton.  "Young  gentleman," 
says  he,  "  if  I  may  make  so  bold,  I  will  tell  you  a 
piece  of  my  mind."  "Well,  pray  do."  "Why, 
I'm  thinking  you're  going  to  see  your  sweetheart, 
or  else  the  great  poet  yonder,  Mr.  Pope."  "  Why 
so  ? "  said  I,  laughing.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  your 
eyes  are  all  in  a  sparkle,  and  you  seem  in  a 
woundy  hurry."  I  told  him  he  had  guessed  it. 
He  is  in  the  habit  of  taking  visitors  over  ;  great 
lords,  he  said,  and  grand  ladies  from  court  ;  "and 
very  merry,  too,  for  all  that."  He  mentioned  Dr. 
Swift,  Mr.  Gay,  and  others.  Upon  asking  if  Dr. 
Swift  was  not  one  of  the  great  writers,  "  Ay,  ay," 
said  he,  "  let  him  alone,  I  warrant  him  :  he's  a 
strange  gentleman."  The  boatman  told  me  that 
one  day  the  Dean,  "  as  they  called  him,"  quarreled 
with  him  about  a  halfpenny.  His  Reverence  made 


222  TABLE-TALK. 

him  tack  about  for  some  whimsey  or  other,  and 
then  would  not  pay  him  his  due,  because  he  did 
not  tell  him  what  the  fare  was  the  moment  he 
asked.  "  So  his  Deanship  left  a  cloak  in  the  boat, 
and  I  took  it  up  to  him  to  Mr.  Pope's  house,  and 
he  came  out  and  said,  '  Well,  sirrah,  there's  some 
use  in  frightening  you  sneaking  rascals,  for  you 
bring  us  back  our  goods.'  So  I  thought  it  very 
strange ;  and  says  I,  '  Your  Reverence  thinks  I 
was  frightened,  eh  ? '  '  Yes,'  says  he,  as  sharp  as 
a  needle  ;  '  haven't  you  done  an  honest  action  ? ' 
So  I  was  thrown  all  of  a  heap  to  hear  him  talk  in 
such  a  way  ;  and  as  I  didn't  well  know  what  he 
meant,  I  grew  redder  and  redder  like,  for  want  of 
gift  of  the  gab.  So  says  I  at  last,  '  Well,  if  your 
Reverence,  or  Deanship,  or  what  you  please  to  be 
called,  thinks  as  how  I  was  frightened,  all  that  I 
says  is  this  :  d — n  me  (saving  your  Reverence's 
presence)  if  Tom  Harden  is  a  man  to  be  frightened 
about  a  halfpenny,  like  some  folks  that  shall  be 
nameless.'  *  Oh,  ho  ! '  says  Mr.  Dean,  looking 
scared,  like  an  owl  in  an  ivy-bush,  'Tom  Harden 
is  a  mighty  pretty  fellow,  and  must  not  be  flouted  ; 
and  so  he  won't  row  me  again,  I  suppose,  for  all 
he  has  got  a  wife  and  a  parcel  of  brats.'  How 
he  came  to  know  that,  I  can't  say.  '  No,  no,'  says 
I ;  '  I'm  not  so  much  of  a  pretty  fellow  as  that 
comes  to,  if  that's  what  they  mean  by  a  pretty 
fellow.  It's  not  my  business  to  be  picking  and 
choosing  my  fares,  so  that  I  gets  my  due.  But  I 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      223 

was  right  about  the  halfpenny  for  all  that ;  and 
if  your  Reverence  wants  to  go  a  swan-hopping 
another  time,  you  knows  what's  to  pay.'  So  the 
Dean  fell  a-laughing  like  mad,  and  then  looked 
very  grave,  and  said,  '  Here,  you,  Mr.  John  Searle ' 
(for  that's  Mr.  Pope's  man's  name) — *  here,  make 
Mr.  Thomas  Harden  acquainted  with  the  taste  of 
your  beer  ;  and  do  you,  Mr.  Thomas,  take  back 
the  cloak,  and  let  it  stay  another  time  in  the  boat 
till  I  want  to  return ;  and,  moreover,  Thomas, 
keep  the  cloak  always  for  me  to  go  home  o'  nights 
in,  and  I  will  make  it  worth  your  while,  and  leave 
it  you  when  I  am  dead,  provided  it's  worn  out 
enough.'  I  shall  never  forget  all  the  odd  things 
he  said,  for  I  talked  'em  over  with  Mr.  Searle. 
( And  hark'ee,  Mr.  Thomas  Harden,'  says  he,  '  re- 
member,' says  he,  *  and  never  forget  it,  that  you 
love  your  wife  and  children  better  than  your 
pride,'  says  he,  '  and  your  pride,'  says  he,  '  better 
than  a  paltry  Dean  ;  and  those  are  two  nice 
things  to  manage  together.'  And  the  Dean  has 
been  as  good  as  his  word,  young  gentleman  ; 
and  I  keep  his  cloak  ;  and  he  came  to  my  cot- 
tage yonder  one  day,  and  told  my  wife  she 
was  'the  prettiest  creature  of  a  plain  woman' 
that  he  ever  saw  (did  you  ever  hear  the  like  o' 
that?)  ;  and  he  calls  her  Pannopy,  and  always 
asks  how  she  does.  I  don't  know  why  he  calls 
her  Pannopy  —  mayhap  because  her  pots  and 
pans  were  so  bright  ;  for  you'd  ha'  thought 


224  TABLE-TALK. 

they'd  been  silver,  from  the  way  he  stared  at 
'em."  * 

Having  heard  of  the  Dean's  punctuality,  I  was 
afraid  I  should  be  too  late  for  my  good  behavior  ; 
but  Mr.  Thomas  reassured  me  by  saying  that  he 
had  carried  his  Reverence  across  three  hours  be- 
fore from  Richmond,  with  Madam  Blount.  "  He 
is  in  a  mighty  good  humor,"  said  he,  "  and  will 
make  you  believe  anything  he  likes,  if  you  don't 
have  a  care." 

I  was  in  very  good  time,  but  found  the  whole 
party  assembled  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Pope. 
It  was  the  same  as  before,  with  the  addition  of 
the  Doctor,  He  is  shorter  and  stouter  than  I  had 
fancied  him,  with  a  face  in  which  there  is  nothing 
remarkable,  at  first  sight,  but  the  blueness  of  the 
eyes.  The  boatman,  however,  had  not  prepared 
me  for  the  extreme  easiness  and  good-breeding  of 
his  manners.  I  had  made  a  shallow  conclusion. 
I  expected  something  perpetually  fluctuating  be- 
tween broad  mirth  and  a  repelling  self-assumption. 
Nothing  could  be  more  unlike  what  I  found.  His 
inirth,  afterward,  was  at  times  broad  enough,  and 
the  ardor  and  freedom  of  his  spirit  very  evident ; 
but  he  has  an  exquisite  mode,  throughout,  of 

*  Probably  from  a  strange  line  in  Spenser,  where  he  de- 
scribes the  bower  of  Proteus : 

"  There  was  his  wonne  ;  ne  living  wight  was  scene, 
Save  one  old  nymph,  hight  Panope,  to  keep  it  cleane." 
— Faerie  Queen,  book  iii. 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      225 

maintaining  the  respect  of  his  hearers.  Whether 
he  is  so  always,  I  can  not  say.  But  I  guess  that 
he  can  make  himself  equally  beloved  where  he 
pleases,  and  feared  where  he  does  not.  It  must 
be  owned  that  his  mimicry  (for  he  does  not  dis- 
dain even  that  sometimes)  would  not  be  so  well 
in  the  presence  of  foolish  people.  I  suppose  he 
is  cautious  of  treating  them  with  it.  Upon  the 
whole,  partly  owing  to  his  manners,  and  partly 
to  Mr.  Pope's  previous  encouragement  of  me 
(which  is  sufficient  to  set  up  a  man  for  anything), 
I  felt  a  great  deal  more  at  my  ease  than  I  expect- 
ed, and  was  prepared  for  a  day  as  good  as  the 
last.  One  of  the  great  arts,  I  perceive,  of  these 
wits,  if  it  be  not  rather  to  be  called  one  of  the 
best  tendencies  of  their  nature  (I  am  loath  to  bring 
my  modesty  into  question  by  saying  what  I  think 
of  it),  is  to  set  you  at  your  ease,  and  enlist  your 
self-love  in  their  favor,  by  some  exquisite  recog- 
nition of  the  qualities  or  endeavors  on  which  you 
most  pride  yourself,  or  are  supposed  to  possess. 
It  is  in  vain  you  tell  yourself  they  may  flatter  you. 
You  believe  and  love  the  flattery  ;  and  let  me  add 
(though  at  the  hazard  of  making  my  readers  smile), 
you  are  bound  to  believe  it,  if  the  bestowers  are 
men  of  known  honesty  and  spirit,  and  above  "  buy- 
ing golden  opinions  "  of  everybody.  I  am  not  sin- 
cere when  I  call  it  an  art.  I  believe  it  to  be  good- 
natured  instinct,  and  the  most  graceful  sympathy  ; 
and  having  let  this  confession  out,  in  spite  of  my- 
15 


226  TABLE-TALK. 

self,  I  beg  my  dear  friends,  the  readers,  to  thinl 
the  best  they  can  of  me,  and  proceed.     The  Dep 
is  celebrated  for  a  way  he  has  of  setting  off  1 
favors  in  this  way,  by  an  air  of  objection.     Per 
haps  there  is  a  little  love  of  power  and  authority 
in  this,  but  he  turns  it  all  to  grace.     Mr.  Pope  d 
me  the  honor  of  introducing  me  as  a  young  gen- 
tleman  for  whom  he  had  a  particular  esteem.   Th 
Dean  acknowledged  my  bow  in  the  politest  man 
ner  ;  and  after  asking  whether  this  was  not  the 
Mr.  Honeycomb  of  whom  he  had  heard  talk  at 
the  coffee-house,  looked  at  me  with  a  serious  calm- 
ness, and  said,  "I  would  not  have  you  believe,  s' 
everything  Mr.  Pope  says  of  you."     I  believe 
blushed,  but  without  petulance.     I  answered  th; 
my  self-love  was  doubtless   as   great  as  that  * 
most  young  men,  perhaps  greater ;  and  that  if  T 
confessed  I  gave  way  to  it  in  such  an  instance 
the  present,  something  was  to  be  pardoned  t 
^on  the  score  of  the  temptation.     "  But,"  said 
:t  Mr.  Pope  flatters  beyond  all  bounds.     He  in 
duces  a  new  friend  to  us,  and  pretends  thatw" 
are  too  liberal   to   be  jealous.     He  trumpets  up 
some  young  wit,  Mr.  Honeycomb,  and  fancies,  in 
the  teeth  of  all  evidence,  moral  and  political,  that 
we   are  to  be  in  love  with  our  successors."    I 
bowed  and  blushed,  indeed,  at  this.     I  said  that, 
whether  a  real  successor  or  not,  I  should  now,  at 
all  events,  run  the  common  danger  of  greatness, 
in  being  spoilt  by  vanity  ;  and  that,  like  a  subtle 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      227 

prince  in  possession,  the  Dean  knew  how  to  pre- 

ent  his  heirs  presumptive  from  becoming  of  any 

.  alue.     The  Doctor  laughed,  and  said,  with  the 

most  natural  air  in  the  world  :  "  I  have  read  some 

•>retty  things  of  yours,  Mr.  Honeycomb,  and  am 

iiappy  to  make  your  acquaintance.     I  hope  the 

times  will  grow  smoother  as  you  get  older,  and 

°that  you  will  furnish  a  new  link,  some  day  or 

"  other,  to  reunite  friends  that  ought  not  to  have 

been  separated."     This  was  an  allusion  to  certain 

Whig  patrons  of  mine.     It  affected  me  much ; 

and  I  gladly  took  the  opportunity  of  the  silenc'e 

'e quired  by  good-breeding,  to  lay  my  hand  upon 

ay  heart,  and  express  my  gratitude  by  another 

")ow.     He  saw  how  nearly  he  had  touched  me  ; 

Jor,  turning  to  Mr.  Pope,  he  said  gayly:  "There 

is  more  love  in  our  hates  nowadays  than  there 

d  to  be  in  the  loves  of  the  wits,  when  you  and 

ere  as  young  as  Mr.  Honeycomb.     What  did 

u  care  for  old  Wycherley  ?  or  what  did  Wycher- 

/  care  for  Rochester,  compared  with  the  fond 

^eats   and  vexations  of  us  party-men  ? "      Mr. 

Pope's   answer  was   prevented  by  the  entrance 

of  his  mother.     The  Dean  approached  her  as  if 

she  had  been  a  princess.     The   good  old  lady, 

however,  looked   as  if   she  was  to  be  upon   her 

good  behavior,  now  that  the  Dean  was  present ; 

and  Mrs.  Martha  Blount,  notwithstanding  he  pays 

court  to  her,  had  an  air  of  the  same  kind.     I  am 

told  that  he  keeps  all  the  women  in  awe.     This 


228  TABLE-TALK. 

must  be  one  of  the  reasons  for  their  being  so  fond 
of  him,  when  he  chooses  to  be  pleased.  Mr.  Wal- 
scott,  whose  manners  are  simple  and  sturdy,  could 
not  conceal  a  certain  uneasiness  of  admiration  ; 
and,  though  a  great  deal  more  at  my  ease  than  I 
had  looked  to  be,  I  partook  of  the  same  feeling. 
With  Mr.  Pope,  all  is  kindness  on  one  part,  and 
pleased  homage  on  the  other.  Dr.  Swift  keeps 
one  upon  the  alert,  like  a  field-officer.  Yet,  ex- 
ternally, he  is  as  gentle,  for  the  most  part,  as  his 
great  friend. 

The  dinner  seemed  to  be  still  more  nea{  and 
perfect  than  the  last,  though  I  believe  there  were 
no  more  dishes.  But  the  cookery  had  a  more  con- 
summate propriety.  The  Dean's  influence,  I  sup- 
pose, pierces  into  the  kitchen.  I  could  not  help 
fancying  that  the  dishes  were  sensible  of  it,  and 
submitted  their  respective  relishes  with  anxiety. 
The:  talk,  as  usual,  began  upon  eating. 

ME.  POPE.  I  verily  believe,  that  when  people 
eat  and  drink  too  much,  if  it  is  not  in  the  ardor 
of  good  company,  they  do  it,  not  so  much  for  the 
sake  of  eating,  as  for  the  want  of  something  bet- 
ter to  do. 

DE.  SWIFT.  That  is  as  true  a  thing  as  you  ever 
said.  When  I  was  very  solitary  in  Ireland,  I  used 
to  eat  and  drink  twice  as  much  as  at  any  other 
time.  Dinner  was  a  great  relief.  It  cut  the  day 
in  two. 

MR.  POPE.  I  have  often  noticed,  that  if  I  am 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      229 

alone,  and  take  up  a  book  at  dinner-time,  and  get 
concerned  in  it,  I  do  not  care  to  eat  any  more. 
What  I  took  for  an  unsatisfied  hunger  leaves  me 
— is  no  more  thought  of. 

DR.  SWIFT.  People  mean  as  much  when  they 
say  that  such  and  such  a  thing  is  meat  and  drink 
to  them.  By  the  same  rule,  meat  and  drink  is 
one's  book.  At  Laracor,  an  omelet  was  Quintus 
Curtius  to  me  ;  and  the  beef,  being  an  epic  dish, 
Mr.  Pope's  Homer. 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  You  should  have  dressed  it 
yourself,  Mr.  Dean,  to  have  made  it  as  epic  as 
that. 

DR.  SWIFT.  'Faith  !  I  was  no  hero,  and  could 
not  afford  the  condescension.  A  poor  vicar  must 
have  a  servant  to  comfort  his  pride,  and  keep  him 
in  heart  and  starvation. 

MR.  WALSCOTT.  If  people  eat  and  drink  for 
want  of  something  better  to  do,  there  is  no  fear 
that  men  of  genius  will  die  of  surfeiting.  They 
must  have  their  thoughts  to  amuse  them,  if  no- 
thing else. 

THE  DEAN  (with  vivacity).  Their  thoughts  ! 
Their  fingers'  ends,  to  bite  till  the  blood  come. 
That,  Mr.  Walscott,  depends  on  the  state  of  the 
health.  I  was  once  returning  to  dinner  at  Lara- 
cor, when  I  saw  a  grave  little  shabby-looking  fel- 
low sitting  on  a  stile.  I  asked  him  what  he  did 
idling  there.  He  answered,  very  philosophically, 
that  he  was  the  Merry  Andrew  lately  arrived,  and 


230  TABLE-TALK. 

that,  with  my  leave,  lie  would  drink  my  health  in 
a  little  more  fresh  air,  for  want  of  a  better  draught. 
I  told  him  I  was  a  sort  of  Merry  Andrew  myself, 
and  so  invited  him  to  dinner.  The  poor  man  be- 
came very  humble  and  thankful,  and  turned  out  a 
mighty  sensible  fellow  ;  so  I  got  him  a  place  with 
an  undertaker,  and  he  is  now  merry  in  good  ear- 
nest. I  put  some  pretty  "  thoughts  "  in  his  head 
before  he  left  me.  A  cousin  of  mine  sent  them 
me  from  Lisbon,  in  certain  long-necked  bottles, 
corked  and  sealed  up.  My  Lord  Peterborough 
has  a  cellar  full  of  very  pretty  thoughts.  God 
grant  we  all  keep  our  health  !  and  then,  young 
gentleman  (looking  very  seriously  at  me,  for  I 
believe  he  thought  my  countenance  expressed 
a  little  surprise) — and  then  we  shall  turn  our 
thoughts  to  advantage  for  ourselves  and  for 
others. 

•MRS.  POPE.  If  there's  any  gentleman  who 
could  do  without  his  wine,  I  think  it  must  be  my 
lord.  When  I  was  a  little  girl,  I  fancied  that 
great  generals  were  all  tall  stately  persons,  with 
one  arm  akimbo,  and  a  truncheon  held  out  in  the 
other  ;  and  I  thought  they  all  spoke  grand,  and 
like  a  book. 

.  DE.  SWIFT.  Madam,  that  was  Mr.  Pope's  poe- 
try, struggling  to  be  born  before  its  time. 

MBS.  POPE.  I  protest,  when  I  first  had  the 
honor  of  knowing  my  Lord  Peterborough,  he  al- 
most frightened  me  with  his  spirits.  I  believe  he 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      231 

saw  it ;  for  all  of  a  sudden  he  became  the  finest, 
softest-spoken  gentleman  that  I  ever  met  with  ; 
and  I  fell  in  love  with  him. 

MES.  BLOUNT.  Oh,  madam,  I  shall  tell !  and 
we'll  all  dance  at  my  lady's  wedding. 

I  do  not  know  which  was  the  handsomer  sight; 
the  little  blush  that  came  over  the  good  old  lady's 
cheek  as  she  ended  her  speech,  or  the  affectionate 
pleasantness  with  which  her  son  regarded  her. 

MB.  POPE.  You  did  not  fall  in  love  with  Lord 
Peterborough  because  he  is  such  a  fine-spoken 
gentleman,  but  because  he  is  a  fine  gentleman  and 
a  madcap  besides.  I  know  the  tastes  of  you  ladies 
of  the  civil  wars. 

THE  DEA;N\  'Tis  a  delicious  rogue  !  (and  then, 
as  if  he  had  spoken  too  freely  before  strangers) — 
'tis  a  great  and  rare  spirit !  If  all  the  world  re- 
sembled Lord  Peterborough,  they  might  do  with- 
out consciences.  I  know  no  fault  in  him,  but  that 
he  is  too  fond  of  fiddlers  and  singers. 

MR.  POPE.  Here  is  Mr.  Honeycomb,  who  will 
venture  to  dispute  with  you  on  that  point. 

I  said  Mr.  Pope  paid  me  too  great  a  compli- 
ment. I  might  venture  to  differ  from  Dr.  Swift, 
but  hardly  to  dispute  with  him. 

DR.  SWIFT.  Oh,  Mr.  Honeycomb,  you  are  too 
modest,  and  I  must  pull  down  your  pride.  You 
have  heard  of  little  Will  Harrison,  poor  lad,  who 
wrote  the  "  Medicine  for  the  Ladies,"  in  the  "  Tat- 
ler."  "Well,  he  promised  to  be  one  of  your  great 


232  TABLE-TALK. 

wits,  and  was  very  much  of  a  gentleman  ;  and  so 
he  took  to  wearing  thin  waistcoats,  and  died  of  a 
birthday  suit.  Now,  thin  waistcoats  and  soft 
sounds  are  both  of  'em  bad  habits,  and  encourage 
a  young  man  to  keep  late  hours,  and  get  his  death 
o'  cold. 

I  asked  whether  he  could  not  admit  a  little 
"  higher  argument "  in  the  musician  than  the 
tailor.  Shakespeare  says  of  a  flute,  that  it  "  dis- 
coursed excellent  music,"  as  if  it  had  almost  been 
a  rational  creature. 

DR.  SWIFT.  A  rational  fiddlestick  !  It  is  not 
Shakespeare  that  says  it,  but  Hamlet,  who  was 
out  of  his  wits.  Yes,  I  have  heard  a  flute  dis- 
course. Let  me  see — I  have  heard  a  whole  room- 
ful of  'em  discourse  (and  then  he  played  off  an 
admirable  piece  of  mimicry,  which  ought  to  have 
been  witnessed,  to  do  it  justice).  Let  me  see — 
let  nie  see.  The  flute  made  the  following  excel- 
lent remarks  :  Tootle,  tootle,  tootle,  tootle — tootle, 
tootle  tee  ;  and  then  again,  which  I  thought  a  new 
observation,  Tootle,  tootle,  tootle,  with  my  reedle, 
tootle  ree.  Upon  which  the  violin  observed,  in  a 
very  sprightly  manner,  Niddle,  niddle,  niddle, 
niddle,  niddle,  niddle  nee,  with  my  nee,  with  my 
long  nee ;  which  the  bass-viol,  in  his  gruff  but 
sensible  way,  acknowledged  to  be  as  witty  a  thing 
as  he  had  ever  heard.  This  was  followed  by  a 
general  discourse,  in  which  the  violin  took  the 
lead,  all  the  rest  questioning  and  reasoning  with 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      233 

one  another,  as  hard  as  they  could  drive,  to  the 
admiration  of  the  beholders,  who  were  never  tired 
of  listening.  They  must  have  carried  away  a 
world  of  thoughts.  For  my  part,  my  deafness 
came  upon  me.  I  never  so  much  lamented  it. 
There  was  a  long  story  told  by  a  hautboy,  which 
was  considered  so  admirable  that  the  whole  band 
fell  into  a  transport  of  scratching  and  tooting.  I 
observed  the  flute's  mouth  water,  probably  at 
some  remarks  on  green  peas,  which  had  just  come 
in  season.  It  might  have  been  guessed,  by  the 
gravity  of  the  hearers,  that  the  conversation  chief- 
ly ran  upon  the  new  king  and  queen  ;  but  I  be- 
lieve it  was  upon  periwigs  ;  for  turning  to  that 
puppy  Rawlinson,  and  asking  what  he  concluded 
from  all  that,  he  had  the  face  to  tell  me  that  it 
gave  him  a  "  heavenly  satisfaction." 

We  laughed  heartily  at  this  sally  against  music. 

Dr.  Swift  was  very  learned  on  the  dessert. 
He  said  he  owed  his  fructification  to  Sir  William 
Temple.  I  observed  that  it  was  delightful  to  see 
so  great  a  man  as  Sir  William  Temple  so  happy 
as  he  appears  to  have  been.  The  otium  cum  dig- 
nitate  is  surely  nowhere  to  be  found,  if  not  as  he 
has  painted  it  in  his  works. 

DR.  SWIFT.  The  otium  cum  digging  potatoes 
is  better.  I  could  show  you  a  dozen  Irishmen 
(which  is  a  great  many  for  thriving  ones)  who 
have  the  advantage  of  him.  Sir  William  was  a 
great,  but  not  a  happy  man.  He  had  an  ill  stom- 


234  TABLE-TALK. 

ach.  What  is  worse,  he  gave  me  one.  He  taught 
me  to  eat  platefuls  of  cherries  and  peaches,  when 
I  took  no  exercise. 

A.  H.  What  can  one  trust  to,  if  the  air  of 
tranquillity  in  his  writings  is  not  to  be  depended 
on? 

ME.  POPE.  I  believe  he  talks  too  much  of  his 
ease,  to  be  considered  very  easy.  It  is  an  ill  head 
that  takes  so  much  concern  about  its  pillow. 

DK.  SWIFT.  Sir  William  Temple  was  a  martyr 
to  the  "  good  sense  "  that  came  up  in  those  days. 
He  had  sick  blood,  that  required  stirring  ;  but  be- 
cause it  was  a  high  strain  of  good  sense  to  agree 
with  Epicurus  and  be  of  no  religion,  it  was  thought 
the  highest  possible  strain,  in  anybody  who  should 
not  go  so  far,  to  live  in  a  garden  as  Epicurus  did, 
and  lie  quiet,  and  be  a  philosopher.  So  Epicurus 
got  a  great  stone  in  his  kidneys  ;  and  Sir  William 
used  to  be  out  of  temper  if  his  oranges  got 
smutted. 

I  thought  there  was  a  little  spleen  in  this  ac- 
count of  Temple,  which  surprised  me,  considering 
old  times.  But  if  it  be  true  that  the  giddiness, 
and  even  deafness,  to  which  the  Dean  is  subject, 
is  owing  to  the  philosopher's  bad  example,  one 
can  hardly  wonder  at  its  making  him  melancholy. 
He  sat  amid  a  heap  of  fruit  without  touching  it. 

MR.  POPE.  Sir  William,  in  his  "Essay  on 
Gardening,"  says  he  does  not  know  how  it  is  that 
Lucretius's  account  of  the  gods  is  thought  more 


CONVERSATION  OP  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      235 

impious  than  Homer's,  who  makes  them  as  full  of 
bustle  and  bad  passions  as  the  meanest  of  us. 
Now,  it  is  very  clear  :  for  the  reason  is,  that  Ho- 
mer's gods  have  something  in  common  with  us, 
and  are  subject  to  our  troubles  and  concerns  ; 
whereas  Lucretius's  live  like  a  parcel  of  bons-vi- 
vants  by  themselves,  and  care  for  nobody. 

THE  DEAN.  There  are  two  admirable  good 
things  in  that  essay.  One  is  an  old  usurer's,  who 
said  that  "  no  man  could  have  peace  of  conscience 
that  run  out  of  his  estate."  The  other  is  a  Span- 
ish proverb,  that  "  a" fool  knows  more  in  his  own 
house  than  a  wise  man  in  another's." 

The  conversation  turning  upon  our  discussion 
last  time  respecting  anglers,  the  Dean  said  he  once 
asked  a  scrub  who  was  fishing  if  he  ever  caught 
the  fish  called  the  Scream.  The  man  protested  he 
had  never  heard  of  such  a  fish.  "  What !  "  says 
the  Doctor,  "  you  an  angler,  and  never  heard  of 
the  fish  that  gives  a  shriek  when  coming  out  of 
the  water  ?  It  is  true  it  is  not  often  found  in  these 
parts  ;  but  ask  any  Grim  Tartar,  and  he  will  tell 
you  of  it.  'Tis  the  only  fish  that  has  a  voice  ; 
and  a  sad,  dismal  sound  it  is."  The  man  asked 
who  could  be  so  barbarous  as  to  angle  for  a  crea- 
ture that  shrieked  ?  "  That,"  says  the  Doctor,  "  is 
another  matter  :  but  what  do  you  think  of  fellows 
that  I  have  seen,  whose  only  reason  for  hooking 
and  tearing  all  the  fish  they  can  get  at,  is  that 
they  do  not  scream?"  I  shouted  this  not  in 


236  TABLE-TALK. 

his  ear,  and  he  almost  shuffled  himself  into  the 
river. 

MB.  WALSCOTT.  Surely,  Mr.  Dean,  this  argu- 
ment would  strike  the  dullest. 

DR.  SWIFT.  Yes,  if  you  could  turn  it  into  a 
box  on  the  ear.  Not  else.  They  would  fain  give 
you  one  meantime,  if  they  had  the  courage  ;  for 
men  have  such  a  perverse  dread  of  the  very  notion 
of  doing  wrong,  that  they  would  rather  do  it  than 
be  told  of  it.  You  know  Mr.  Wilcox  of  Hertford- 
shire? (to  Mr.  Pope).  I  once  convinced  him  he 
did  an  inhuman  thing  in  angling  ;  at  least,  I  must 
have  gone  very  near  to  convince  him ;  for  he  cut 
short  the  dispute  by  referring  me  to  his  friends 
for  a  good  character.  It  gives  one  the  spleen  to 
see  an  honest  man  make  such  an  owl  of  himself. 

MR.  POPE.  And  all  anglers,  perhaps,  as  he 
was? 

DR.  SWIFT.  Very  likely,  'faith.  A  parcel  of 
sneaking,  scoundrelly  understandings  get  some 
honest  man  to  do  as  they  do,  and  then,  forsooth, 
must  dishonor  him  with  the  testimony  of  their 
good  opinion.  No  :  it  requires  a  very  rare  be- 
nevolence, or  as  great  an  understanding,  to  see  be- 
yond even  such  a  paltry  thing  as  this  angling,  in 
angling  times  ;  about  as  much  as  it  would  take 
a  good  honest-hearted  cannibal  to  see  further  than 
man-eating,  or  a  goldsmith  beyond  his  money. 
What !  isn't  Tow-wow  a  good  husband  and  jaw- 
breaker ;  and  must  he  not  stand  upon  reputation  ? 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      237 

ME.  WALSCOTT.  It  is  common  to  hear  people 
among  the  lower  orders  talk  of  "  the  poor  dumb 
animal,"  when  they  desire  to  rescue  a  cat  or  dog 
from  ill  treatment. 

THE  DEAN.  Yes  ;  and  the  cat  is  not  dumb, 
nor  the  dog  either.  A  horse  is  dumb  ;  a  fish  is 
dumber  ;  and  I  suppose  this  is  the  reason  why 
the  horse  is  the  worst  used  of  any  creature,  ex- 
cept trout  and  grayling.  Come  :  this  is  melan- 
choly talk.  Mrs.  Patty,  why  didn't  you  smoke 
the  bull  ? 

MRS.  BLOUNT.  Smoke  the  bull,  sir  ? 

DR.  SWIFT.  Yes  ;  I  have  just  made  a  bull.  I 
said  horses  were  dumb,  and  fish  dumber. 

MRS.  POPE.  Pray,  Mr.  Dean,  why  do  they  call 
those  kind  of  mistakes  bulls  f 

DR.  SWIFT.  Why,  madam,  I  can  not  tell  ;  but 
I  can  tell  you  the  prettiest  bull  that  ever  was 
made.  An  Irishman  laid  a  wager  with  another, 
a  bricklayer,  that  he  could  not  carry  him  to  the 
top  of  a  building  in  his  hod.  The  fellow  took 
him  up,  and,  at  the  risk  of  both  their  necks, 
landed  him  safely.  "  Well,"  cried  the  other, 
"  you  have  done  it  ;  there's  no  denying  that  ;  but 
at  the  fourth  story  I  had  hopes." 

MR.  POPE.  Doctor,  I  believe  you  take  the 
word  smoke  to  be  a  modern  cant  phrase.  I  found 
it,  when  I  was  translating  Homer,  in  old  Chap- 
man. He  says  that  Juno  "  smoked "  Ulysses 
through  his  disguise. 


238  TABLE-TALK. 

Mention  was  made  of  the  strange  version  of 
Hobbes. 

MR.  POPE.  You  recollect,  Mr.  Honeycomb, 
the  passage  in  the  first  book  of  Homer,  where 
Apollo  comes  down  to  destroy  the  Greeks,  and 
how  his  quiver  sounded  as  he  came  ? 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  "  very  well  "  :  and  I  quoted 
from  his  translation  : 

"Fierce  as  he  moved,  the  silver  shafts  resound." 

MR.  POPE.  I  was  speaking  of  the  original ; 
but  that  line  will  do  very  well  to  contrast  with 
Hobbes.  What  think  you  of 

"  His  arrows  chink  as  often  as  he  jogs !  " 

Mr.  Pope  mentioned  another  passage  just  as 
ridiculous.  I  forget  something  of  the  first  line, 
and  a  word  in  the  second.  Speaking  of  Jupiter, 
he^says  : 

"  With  that his  great  black  brow  he  nodded ; 

Wherewith  (astonished)  were  the  powers  divine : 
Olympus  shook  at  shaking  of  his  God-head, 
And  Thetis  from  it  jumped  into  the  brine." 

MR.  POPE.  Dryden  good-naturedly  says  of 
Hobbes,  that  he  took  to  poetry  when  he  was  too 
old. 

DEAN  SWIFT  (with  an  arch  look).  Perhaps 
had  he  begun  at  forty,  as  Dryden  did,  he  would 
have  been  as  great  as  my  young  master. 


CONVERSATION  OF  SWIFT  AND  POPE.      239 

Mr.  Walscott  could  not  help  laughing  to  hear 
Dry  den,  and  at  forty,  called  "  my  young  master." 
However,  he  was  going  to  say  something,  but  de- 
sisted. I  wish  I  could  recollect  many  more  things 
that  were  said,  so  as  to  do  them  justice.  Alto- 
gether, the  day  was  not  quite  so  pleasant  as  the 
former  one.  With  Mr.  Pope,  one  is  both  tran- 
quil and  delighted.  Dr.  Swift  somehow  makes 
me  restless.  I  could  hear  him  talk  all  day  long, 
but  should  like  to  be  walking  half  the  time,  in- 
stead of  sitting.  Besides,  he  did  not  appear  quite 
easy  himself,  notwithstanding  what  the  boatman 
said  ;  and  he  looked  ill.  I  am  told  he  is  very 
anxious  about  the  health  of  a  friend  in  Ireland. 


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